


Dancing with the devil in the pale moonlight

by X_Nameless_X



Series: In the darkness, you too shall be reborn! [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Emotional Abuse, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gore, Horror, M/M, Psychological Horror, Stalking, Toxic Relationship, fucked up af tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-01-11 03:05:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 50,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18421512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/X_Nameless_X/pseuds/X_Nameless_X
Summary: "Don't all great men have a vision?" Rhetorical question. Yet, irony drips from his tongue as it runs over that time-old sickly grin; "I, as a great man", a comical gesture, "of course had to have a vision. Because what makes a man great, other than his vision? The money?" He chuckles. "The...good looks?" With a twitch of the brow he slicks his hair back with some spit. "Nah...none of it. The greatness- it's all in the vision. It's all in the Idea-...and I happened to have a great one." An odd stench lingers in the heavy air between them as both his elbows slam against the metal table. Papers slide off its surface and Dr. Quinzel jumps a little in her seat; "I have a vision of a world without restraints -Freedom." His hands paint an invisible picture, a grand picture, indeed. And then they fall on the table idly, head tilting to the side as he pouts ever so slightly; "But...you can't make an omelet without cracking some eggs."  | Harley deserved a spot on the show. And I'm going to give it to her.





	1. Wake up

**Author's Note:**

> Contains spoilers. Rated M for EXPLICIT content. For this story I'm following Gotham's canon as to Jerome not becoming the actual Joker, but rather standing for the idea behind the Joker, as a sort of 'foundation' for his later birth. The show never stated if Mr. J. is actually the final form of the Joker we would meet in Gotham, but I'm going to take it as canon that Mr. J. is the actual Joker and not Jerome or Jeremiah.  
> Because of that I'm going to deviate from Harley Quinn's canon interpretation too a little bit, instead giving it my own twist. I will be keeping certain canon elements, however. (I don't know if that's considered an OC or not, so I'm tagging it as such either case)  
> Don't get me wrong, I liked Ecco's concept in the show, but I'm madly in love with Harley's character and I felt like giving her a part in the show too. Also yay for Harley and Ivy :')  
> The story begins before the events of 'The Blind Fortune Teller' episode and will follow the show's timeline but eventually deviate from it.  
> I hope you enjoy the story. Feedback is always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Sore eyes snapped open with a loud thud. Weak palms pushed against the cold, plastic floor as she tried to get up. The sun was reluctantly peaking over the great bridge. She looked out the van's window, soft rays highlighting the bruises on her cheek. The messy mattress behind her hosted another two girls, both of which were fast asleep. She turned to them for a mere second, made sure she had not been seen and slipped outside.

The soil was wet, humid from last night's rain. She made her way to the river. The camp was silent, nobody had emerged yet. When she was close to the bank she crouched among tall grass, slipped a hand in her shorts' pocket and pulled some smoke out. She rolled a cigar, dug inside her pockets for a lighter and sat there, smoking by the bank.

Soon the rest awoke and ruined her beautiful moment. It's alright, she's used to it by now. She got up and gathered her belongings, heading back to the camp.

Most mornings were pretty quiet and went by without much fuss. They gathered for breakfast, nibbled on something then set out for practice, or preparing the stage. When that was done, you might as well wander around until your time comes. Which was exactly what she did. But not tonight. Tonight was a premiere show, the tickets had already been sold out and there was no way anyone was leaving before the stage was empty.

The circus had its way. It belonged to the performers and the income was used to buy supplies and food and not for anyone's personal gain. It was as if working to support an asylum. For some of the performers, this circus had been their home for ages, whole generations had been raised and died during its many travels. For others, such as herself, it had been a sanctuary.

Outside the Dagger-Master's trailer a small crowd had gathered. She pushed her way through the dancers and stood on the very tip of her toes just in case she could make out anything from inside. But being tiny and weak compared to the dancers –these dudes had been working their asses off their whole lives to own these bodies- she was soon pushed aside and had to wait. Will Grayson neared her after a while. The middle-aged acrobat looked down on the girl and faked a deep sigh.

"It is quite a shame, she was still a young girl. Just like you." He commented. The girl snapped out of her thoughts and turned to face him.

"Huh?"

"You know, Samantha. Dave's sidekick." He smirked. The girl pursed her thin lips.

"Is she gone?"

"Found dead this morning." He continued in a morbid voice. "I wonder who would take her place. Certainly none of my comrades." He chuckled.

Simon the weeping clown sneaked up behind them. "You bet your bottom dollar." He growled towards the Grayson. The girl swallowed hard and stepped back.

"You guys take it easy, it's not like it matters anyway." She said but it was merely a whisper.

"You think some random creep would come to the camp and randomly kill someone? Sounds quite unlikely to me." Simon said. Grayson's eyes narrowed.

"Well whatever it's quite a joke that she had to die like this after all this time she spent having daggers thrown at her by a blind man, don't you think?" The girl interfered, trying to lighten up the mood. Grayson rolled his eyes at her morbid humor and walked away.

"Nah, don't mind him he's old and his humor's all rusty." The clown added. She turned around to find his eyes fixated on her. She stepped back. Simon was rather intimidating and she had heard an awful lot of bad rumors about him. Better keep her distance.

Samantha's death had an impractical side to it as well. No one would offer to take her place in tonight's show. So the Ring Master, a brown man named Daniel, walked up to the female dancers trailer and knocked on the door thrice.

When you're working for the circus being talented at what you do has some pros and cons. On the bad side, you get to do all the hard work and experience the most pressure as the show relies on you. Everyone resents you for your talent and you'll rarely ever make friends –but you're guaranteed to make a lot of enemies. No one will leave you alone as long as you stand out, because the circus is more than a show. You live with those people. And you want to keep good relations with them for your own sake. At the same time when you're not as talented, you'll most likely be picked to fill in Samantha's spot and get daggers thrown at your face.

Today was one of the few days Jinx wished she had been on the 'rather-talented' side. When Daniel stepped up to her she knew what was coming and that there was no way she could avoid it.

"Are you or are you not part of this circus?" he said before even greeting the girl. She nodded silently. "Go to Dave and ask him what you must do to prepare. You'd better do your best, girl." He threatened.

A couple of minutes later, there she was before the blind man. He was not the first blind human she'd witnessed –the fortune teller that she'd visited once was lacking his vision as well. But he was harmless compared to someone with a full set of kitchen knives strapped around his waist.

"Joe will help you up the board. There is a slit for ankles and wrists. The board can rotate, as you probably know. And as it rotates I will throw. Now the trick, if you'd like to know…"

"No that's ok, I like a little mystery in my life. So long as I don't get stabbed, that is." She chuckled. Dave didn't. He rarely had any other expression than his neutral one. Actually he didn't seem to be listening to her at all.

"Well, when you hear Joe's whistle you must go to him and he'll help you on the board. There is a slit for ankles and wrists…"

'Shit, he's totally wack…' she thought. Jinx nodded and was preparing to say that he'd already told her but instead she stepped backwards and out of his trailer. For one thing, she could at least take a walk by the bank without having to worry about the preparations. While the others set up their stages, all she had to do was wait.

'Look, Samantha was working for like what ten years, with this guy and she never got a scratch. It's not like that will change tonight. It's all going to be alright. Yes, quite alright.'

There was noise behind her. She snapped out of her thoughts and accidentally dropped the cigar from her fingers. She looked over her shoulder to find a figure creeping towards the bank. 'Better keep damn quiet…' she thought then started to drag herself backwards up until something stiff and cold collided with her backbones. She turned around, momentarily taken aback by the gray mass. It was just a rock. The camp wasn't far. Someone would hear her screaming anyway. She swallowed hard and slowly got on her feet.

"Sorry if I scared you."

She jumped back with a sharp shriek. He started to laugh, Jerome. His skin looked even paler in the dim sunlight and his eyes were fixed on her frown as his smile slowly faded to an apologetic look.

"No sorry, I really didn't mean to-"

"Yeah, whatever Jerome just...You know I'm probably worked up with the whole Samantha story…" she muttered. "What are you doing out here anyway?" she huffed, shifting a bit, obviously trying to change the subject.

Jerome glanced at the cigarette that was still smoking on the ground and the package of smoke that peeked over her pocket and frowned a bit.

"Just..looking for mice." He breathed, his eyes going from the cigarette to her, then back to the cigarette.

She shifted uncomfortably. They were about the same age, perhaps she was a bit older. Jerome looked many times more morbid than she did. They were both kind of weird but this is the circus, who isn't!

She nodded, dragging one foot behind the other and crossing her hands behind her back.

"Right…for Sheeba right? I mean…" she chuckled, "you know, it's not like you'd eat it or something…"

Jerome smiled, a bit softer than before. He then dug both hands in his pockets and looked away, stating his departure. "So…I'd better get going." He said with a side-smirk. She nodded and he begun to walk away only to come to a halt a few steps away from her. He turned around, as if he'd forgotten something very important and looked her in the eye, dead serious. "You really shouldn't smoke, you know. Bad for the voice and all." He added. Jinx's mouth hung open at his comment. He waited for a second but she wasn't going to respond so he just walked away.

It wasn't the comment as much as his way. It was as if he was really pissed about it, when it was none of his business. Anyway Jerome was weird, people here were weird, that was a matter of fact. She refrained from rolling another cigarette and went to join the rest for tonight's preparations.


	2. Hide the scars to fade away the shakeup

**I don't think you trust, in my**

**self-righteous suicide**

**I, cry**

**When angels deserve to die**

**-Chop Suey, SOAD**

* * *

 

 

_Showtime's around the corner, it's almost dark. There's people running around everywhere, and a few just staying still, doing their make-up, rehearsing their act. Jinx has had her makeup done by Lila, the snake-dancer. She likes to help all the teen girls such as herself. Likes to 'pretty-them-up', as she says. Everyone makes fun of her because she's a whore. And what's worse they make fun of poor Jerome too. Nobody pays much attention to Jinx, on the other hand. She's just an orphan that joined the stage to escape the streets. So she has them thinking._

_Lila gave her cheeks a flustered pink hue, her lips a cherry red touch and she covered the dark circles around her hazel eyes. Her long blue hair got caught up in a bun, dark roots showing through –the circus life schedule does not actually allow root touch-ups, and her small thighs wrapped around distressed fishnet tights. Her only job now is to stay still, smile and look pretty. Not exactly her best card. But she's going to try._

_Joe, the technician, makes her slip into a tight leather corset and ties her ankles and wrists to the suicide board. When the board is straightened, she can feel the unstable wheels rattle against the hard soil and she can smell the stench of Samantha's sweat that has infiltrated the wood. There are various slits from where the daggers had cut. She glances at Joe. She knows the trick to the act has something to do with the rotation and all. He will be rotating the board. Her life is pretty much in his hands right now. She gulps audibly as the grumpy man drags the board to the backstage. Their number is early on the show, luckily. She just wants to get this thing over with and go smoke by the bank._

_I've been watching her all this time, but she would never know. It's a little game for me, but she'd take it too seriously. I know. We don't talk much, never paid much attention. Didn't notice her until today, she's strapped on that thing squirming like a fish from the lake and I wonder…I just wonder what would it be like if she was squirming beneath me…just looking up with those big watery eyes, and smiling; for me._

"Jerome."

 _ **H**_ is dilated pupils narrowed suddenly, the astonishment on his face replaced by an awful expression. What did she want now again?

"Jerome, where's my dress?"

Oh fuck. The dress.

"Be right there, mom." He growls. The fucking dress. He forgot about it. It's all because of that stupid girl, he's suddenly so forgetful. He should be done with it by now, but it's almost show-time and the dress is still buried deep somewhere in the laundry mountains. He swallowed hard and turned around on heel, knowing what was about to come.

It wasn't hard to put on an angelic expression and he had mastered the art of lying to her over the years. However when she was drunk things usually got ugly. How do you go around telling the world that your forty-year old mom is abusing you? He's a grown man now, he can handle her. Sometimes he _thinks_ about it.

As she raises her hand he thinks what would it be like if he grabbed it and twisted her wrist until it broke? What would it be like if he grabbed a knife and scarred her face? Those clowns would never bang you again then, mom! He chuckles.

"You think it's funny!?" she yells. Oops, he was a little loud. "What's so funny, Jerome, what am _I GOING TO WEAR TONIGHT_?" Another slap. It doesn't even hurt anymore. "You're _ruining my show! "_ His cheeks are red and hot. That last one kind of brought a tear to his eye. She grabs the kettle pot. Oh, shit, not the kettle.

* * *

 

 _ **B**_ ack on stage had gotten a bit rough. Once the Lloyds were off-stage (Graysons and Lloyds were always the first to make an appearance and 'greet' the crowd) Joe pushed the board on-stage and everyone started to cheer as Dave made his appearance. He was wearing a long black cape that he let slip off of his shoulders as Joe started to hand him daggers that were placed on a small portable table next to him. Then Joe took his place by the board.

As if anxiety and the stress of having that many eyes stuck on you weren't enough, there came the rotating. Jinx felt as if the hard-boiled spaghetti she'd had for lunch were slowly making their way back to her mouth. At some point her hair brushed against the floor as she was hanging upside down. She lost the smile she'd been threatened into for a moment, but regained her posture as the wheel kept going. There was a long moment of silence, then drum-roll and then the crowd shrieked as the first dagger was thrown.

She heard the thud a million times louder. It landed right next to her face. If for a mere second it wound have penetrated her cheek. She felt her abdomen burn and cheeks fluster even more, but she kept the fake smile on –it was the only task she had been given. Then another drum roll, and another one, and again and again… After the tenth or perhaps eleventh knife she had relaxed. It wasn't going to happen, Dave and Joe knew what they were doing. Right then the last knife landed; right above her head and through the bun, pinned right between her hair. The crowd cheered. Everyone bowed. Joe let her off the wheel and Dave grabbed her hand. She bowed on the spot, small hairs falling around all over the place as she did. The lights went out momentarily as they abandoned the stage. When they were finally backstage again, Joe started to pull the knives out and only then did Jinx realize what had just happened.

As he pulled the top knife out, a nice bun of blue hair fell of the board. She cupped her mouth and ran t the nearest mirror. Indeed, all of her hair was chopped into a short asymmetrical bob.

"Well, at least you've still got your head!" Joe chuckled. She frowned and shook her head to get all the extra little hairs out.

"Screw this, I'm sure Lila will fix this for me."

"It's no big thing, darling, you're still a beautiful girl."

She smiled and turned around to meet the man who complimented her. It was Dave, the _blind_ Dagger-Master.

* * *

 

 _ **I** _made my way to the snake-dancer's, trying to stay positive. Ok, it's just hair, I mean it's not even important. I could have lost an eye. But I liked my hair. It was my signature, you know, blue hair and all…it's ok I can dye it again. The world's still there. I'm still free, still healthy, you know, things are looking up. Nothing to worry about.

As I approach her trailer I see Sheeba's cage right outside. The snake is shifting impatiently, as if sensing the air. Better walk in a big circle to avoid the cage. There's sudden noise from inside. Before I have the time to react a small black object flies through the open window. I barely manage to dodge and something hard brushes against my cheek. Next thing I'm on the ground staring blankly at Sheeba. I could swear for a moment there the snake smiled, as if making fun of me. I slowly got up, rubbing my sore cheek and looked around for the culprit. A frying pan. More yelling is heard from inside and I decide I'd better come back at another time.

The premiere went well but the same could not be said for the following two shows. On one of them Owen Lloyd run Simon the weeping clown over with his clown car and then blamed Alfonso Grayson for loosening the brakes. On that same night though, Grayson slipped and fell off the jumping platform and claimed that Lloyd had sabotaged him to avenge for his deranged fantasies. The Ring Master had them settle their disagreements outside he show and even though the brawl was avoided –at least on stage, the atmosphere was very tense.

The third night only a quarter of the theater was booked. The money would be used to fuel the trucks and therefore we were stuck in Gotham until we gathered enough. It was decided that an extra week of performances would be scheduled.

Much to my disappointment, the Ring Master made no intuition as to whether I'd go back to dancing soon. It had become apparent to everyone but me that from now on I'd be the dagger-girl because no one else was willing to apply for the position and new blood rarely joined the circus –especially while we were on tour.

And so days would go by in peace, except for the ordinary arguments between acrobats and clowns –thankfully they rarely burst into something bigger than insults. Until one day Dave the blind dagger master developed a really bad cough. We had to cancel his performance until he got better which allowed me a night off –nobody bothered to alter the show's schedule just so I could take part in it.

I was very excited about that particular night because it would be one of the few where I would get a chance to wander around the camp during the night. Even when the show was on, the camp was well-lit and full of people as specific numbers (the fortune-teller, the petting zoo and the Elephant Man's bones) were only displayed backstage.

Anyhow, I was so excited for my big night that I forgot half of the tasks I was given (I'm supposed to be taking care of Dave while he's sick, for some reason) and got a few slaps for it. Nothing I couldn't handle, this was everyday stuff in the circus. Finally when Dave was asleep the sun had already set so I stormed to my trailer (my roomates should be on stage by now) and grabbed my heaviest coat, boots and the Golden Virginia Classic I had stolen from the stall boy quite some time ago.

The air outside was…liberating. Cold, yet not penetrating, full of smells and smoke. The crowd was buzzing. I could hear the heart of our circus beating. Everybody was making money and that meant everyone was happy and polite to you and it gave the whole place a different hue that I'd never realized before. Until then the circus had been a hiding place, a sanctuary. You had to be careful there but at least you could touch freedom. Back home there was no hope for that.

I walked around and bumped on several people as I was trying to take in as much of my surroundings as humanly possible. It was clear that this was no ordinary night and I wanted to feel everything to the fullest.

In the backstage I could hear the neighing of several horses from the dancing horses show along with their riders. In the distance you could hear the shrieks of many more animals, combined with the consistent yelling of the man behind the hot-dog and corn stand. I passed by the cotton candy machine and Jenny –she was good friends with all the kids in the circus, gave me a small stick for free.

Was it dangerous back there? Of course it was. It's the circus and I was a homeless kid –well, a kid very far from home to be precise. But the thing was if someone from the circus hurt you, they'd always find out. And that someone would pay quite a heavy toll. It was the outsiders I should be afraid of and I was, just not enough to keep me inside my trailer.

On my way to the petting zoo I bumped on Daniel, the Ring-Master's errand boy.

"Hey Gillian. Running errands?"

"Y-y-yess.." the boy muttered. He was trembling from the cold.

"You should really get Daniel to buy you a new coat…" I whispered but he had already ran off.

Poor thing. Not that any of us were in better spots. I was lucky enough to have grabbed this coat from home on my way out. Growing up in my kind of family, I have adopted a rule and it is to never make other people's problems your own. So, I walked away, trying not to think about it. Gillian's health is none of my business either way.

To this day I had never really understood just how big our circus is. It's easy to get lost in here. I asked around a bit for trailer 1981, the closest one to the petting zoo. I made my way to it, blinded by the blinkering lamp strings that connected the trailers and soon snapped out of my thoughts due to a familiar voice.

"Jewel, honey, enjoying your new haircut?"

Long stiletto nails scratched my chin. I turned my head up to meet Lila's heavy makeup and smirked.

"Yes, thank you …." I breathed out. 'And it's Jinx, who the fuck is Jewel' I wanted to add but didn't. As annoying as it was, it's still better than my birth name. Behind her I could clearly make out the open snake tank; Sheeba was missing.

"It's nothing dear, I'm always glad to help." She smiled, whimsically. Her heavy perfume was starting to make me sick. "Jerome! Bring Sheeba."

Jerome's ginger hair peeked over her shoulders as he clumsily carried the snake to his mom and helped her wrap it around her shoulders.

"Good luck, Ms Lila." I muttered, staring at the snake with what I assume was a pretty horrified expression.

"Luck is for those who need it, dear." She smirked cheekily and walked by me, her aura alone almost pushing me aside. I had mixed feelings for this woman. Both admiration and disgust.

I turned around to see Jerome was still standing there, staring at her with a weird expression. I could swear his pupils took up most of his eye socket for a second as he watched his mother make distance. His arms were loosely hanging on his sides but his fists slowly clenched.

"Um…Jerome?" It was almost as if I brought him back from the dead. All of a sudden the spark returned in his eyes and he turned to face me.

"Yeah? I mean, sorry I was kind of…somewhere else." He giggled awkwardly. I smiled. He was a cute boy but rumor had it all this drama with his mom had loosened some screws in his head. Nobody thought him dangerous at the time, of course, and I was no exception.

"No it's ok." We awkwardly stood there staring at each other for a second. "So…you're going to hang out with John and the others until they're up or something?"

John Grayson was the most popular among our age group. His secret affair with Mary Lloyd was the number one gossip around the circus and everyone wanted to hang out with him and his gang which consisted of probably all the boys of our age that worked in the circus.

"No I don't…well…I don't know, I'll probably stay in." Jerome muttered. He was pretty lonely. I had heard that he didn't hang out with pretty much anybody because they didn't like the rumors about him. I was usually pretty cautious but the look on his face when he admitted to his loneliness before me…it really hurt. I didn't have that many friends either –although I made sure to get along with everybody. I wondered if…no…but…well just a little walk wouldn't hurt right?

So I broke my rule to never burden myself with other people's issues.

"Well if you feel like it we could hang out. I'm having the night off anyway."

 


	3. All we ever wanted

**All we ever wanted was everything**  
**All we ever got was cold**  
**Get up, eat jelly, sandwich bars and barbed wire**  
**And squash every week into a day**

**-'All we ever wanted', Bauhaus**

* * *

 

T **h** ere w **a** s faint music in the background. We walked side by side, occasionally brus **h** ing our h **a** nds against each other's… I touched **h** ers **a** nyway. It was exceptionally brig **h** t th **a** t evening, they'd put up the good lamps and all because the _Mayor_ would supposedly attend. Yuck. Celebrities; they never show up as promised. It's not as if he'd care for our little... _s **h** ow_ **a** nyway…so little…we are little….

~~_Wake up!_ ~~

S **h** e's w **a** lking by my side, mumbling something. Sure, I'd like t **he** girl to be my fri **e** nd. S **h** e looks stiff, bony, like **a** walking corpse. There's something odd about the way she talks, **h** iding something. **A** little, exciting little secret.

~~_Or is it? Not?_ Huh?~~

 S **h** e nudged me. **A** n accident. S **h** e's b **a** ck to walking now, no expression. How... _boring._

~~_Wait wait, let me get back on my 'train of thought', woo woo!  
_ ~~

"What's so funny?"

~~_…Shit, I s **h** ould k **ee** p it down._ ~~

"Uhm…nothing just you know…it's nice here, right?"

_~~Put on a nice smile, Jerome.~~  
_

S **h** e smiles b **a** ck. No teeth. Come to think of it...I've never seen her teeth.

~~_Showing teeth on the first date? Am I asking for too much?_ ~~

"Yeah, you know it's a bit chilly an all…"

_~~A cold-blooded, toothless woman. Jerome, you could do better.~~  
_

"We can go warm up by a can, if you'd like."

She turns around, gives me another toot **h** l **e** ss smil **e**.

"Yeah sure."

* * *

Jerome was quiet company. Not as intriguing as I'd hoped but at least he was quiet. We weren't given a chance to do much –there were big lines in front of most attractions and Jenny wouldn't hand out free cotton candy anymore. He frowned slightly when I mentioned the petting zoo but agreed to follow, as long as I promised to let him try a cigarette by the bank later. Oh well, a cigarette less won't hurt anyone. It's surprising how he changed his mind on the subject though.

We walked all the way back, our silence interrupted only by giggles casually escaping his lips. The thing is, when I asked him why the laughs he always responded something legit ("That monkey just threw shit at the donkey's face!", "Look at those pants on Lloyd!", "Ducks! Need I say more?") but it occurred to me that he might as well have been laughing to himself the whole time. He was weird…but sort of funny at the same time. It certainly felt much safer wandering around the circus with an eighteen year old boy that by myself. Which is probably why I enjoyed such poor company in the first place.

Finally we went and sat down side by side near the bank. You could clearly see Gotham's skyline from here. A million- billion of small blinkering lights from the tall buildings. It was magnificent. I could tell he was enjoying it too. The small lights reflected in his eyes and for a moment there I let myself believe he was charming.

"So." All of a sudden the silence between us was broken as he jumped around, facing me. "I think we made a little deal back there." He smirked. I glared at him and huffed, sneaking the smoke out of my pocket.

"I assume you don't know how to roll."

"I'm a fast learner." He talked back. I chuckled.

"No thanks, I don't want to waste my smoke for nothing. It took some guts to acquire this object." I said, waving the package close to his face. He raised a brow at me.

"You stole it?"

I glanced at him cheekily and shrugged.

"Maybe."

"You're _baaaaaaad_." He breathed, but the look on his face was the furthest thing from deterring. I glanced at him again, while drawing a pinch of smoke and chuckle. It was strange how the moment we distanced ourselves from the camp he'd lightened up. It was as if he'd left a burden behind. I could clearly tell he was breathing more easily here.

"Well," I said, licking the paper and rolling it, "you ain't seen nothing yet." I inspected my work and handed it to him. He took it from my fingers and examined it, then placed it on his lips the right way. "Have you done this before?" I asked, brows raised in concern. I certainly didn't want tonight to be the night he'd discover he has asthma or something.

"No, not really." He replied, with a befuddled look. I nodded silently and helped him light it up. "Ok now suck and breathe." I instructed. He did as he was told. It didn't go down the first time –probably reflex or something, but he managed to do it the second time. All of a sudden smoke was coming out of both his nostrils and mouth and he was coughing like crazy. I watched him and found myself breaking into a hysterical laughter. Jerome was choking on the smoke and for some reason I found it hilarious. He folded in two and I soon realized that he too had been choking laughs the whole time. After a while he settled down and I patted him on the back.

"You'll get used to it, the first time's always the worst."

"I don't intend to make it into a habit." He frowned. "I was just curious."

"Oh."

Had I been a more responsible, sensible person, I wouldn't have picked up the cigarette to finish it myself. His mom was a whore and who knows what she'd passed down onto him. But I was careless, always have been.

He watched me smoke the rest of the cigar. We talked about stuff. Surprisingly I found out that he _loooved_ to talk. I mean, loved it. He could go on forever on almost any subject that came up. We started with simple subjects: the circus, the animals, the show and moved on to bigger ones: life, circumstances, our dreams, our reality. I told him things I probably should have kept to myself. I assumed he did so too...

"You quit med-school for...", a gesture towards the camp, "This?" There's some genuine shock in his expression.

"It wasn't just med school. It was...ugh." I roll my eyes, look away. Jerome's face is the last thing I want to be looking at while confessing to those well-buried feelings. "..."

"Parents?"

 A pause. I can feel the bittersweet smile forming on my chapped lips.

"They pushed too hard, you know? I just…pff…why am I telling you all this you probably don't even care…"

A warm hand on my shoulder.

"I know what pushing means."

 I pause again. I want to ask something, but it's really awkward. Yet, the words are dancing on my tongue, leaving me with a ticklish sensation. I finally give in;

"Does... does your mom... ' _push_ ' you?" I turn around to witness his expression shift into a peculiar frown. For a second there, you'd think he was mad at me for asking. But it melted into a puzzled and hesitant biting of his lower lip.

"...She has some...bad moments. But, don't we all?" An awkward chuckle. I must have hit a nerve. He turns to me slowly and it feels like I'm noticing a few details on his face a little better. His eyes reflect the moonbeams that sparkle on the dark river beside us. I finally smile back, then part my lips to mutter a quiet response;

"...Yeah. Don't we all."


	4. Dreaming of screaming

 

**_Dreaming of screaming_ **

**_Someone kick me out of my mind_ **

**_I hate these thoughts I can't deny_ **

**_-'Dreaming of screaming', SOAD_ **

* * *

Days went by. I was beginning to think this week would never end. Dave got better and back on stage and that meant no more late night play-dates by the river bank.

"I'm sorry. Perhaps we can hang out some other time."

I'd watched the expression on his face, as if I'd slapped him with a frying pan. Poor thing, he didn't have friends. I was probably his only friend. Putting an end to our meet-ups would probably mean lots of boring, lonely nights by himself.

In one of those particularly long late night talks I'd brought up the subject of freedom. Surprisingly, Jerome let me do most of the talking on this one.

_"You know, back at my home we had this book, the House Rules. It was something like the Constitiution, you know, you just didn't want to break a rule. Trust me. So there was this one rule that said the kids- that'd be me, I don't have any siblings, aren't allowed to stay up after midnight." He rolls his eyes. "One night there was a big, GIANT, black cockroach in my bedroom –no idea how it had gotten there, don't ask, and it was literally facing my bed to a point where I could watch it climb the wall at all times. Now I don't have the best relationship with insects in general and I was sort of freaking out as you can probably imagine…so it was past midnight and that thing was still in the room with me, and of course I couldn't even blink, let alone go to sleep. And I can't go tell my parents because it's past bedtime and I'm supposed to be in bed!" I wave my arms up, cigarette ash dusting my hip. Jerome seems intrigued.  
_

_"What did you do?" He leans closer. I do so as well, with a cheeky smirk.  
_

_"I took the fucking House Rules and slammed it on that stupid roach so hard that they had to keep scrubbing the walls for like a week to get the stain out."_

_He fell back and laughed, I could tell it was with his heart._

_"Then my father came into the room and slapped me so hard that I couldn't sleep on that side, 'cause my cheek was bruised for a week." I chuckled with him.  
_

_"What a retard." I wasn't sure if I heard some bitterness in his voice. There was a small pause. Lost in the moment -and the lie- I shrugged and sat up, drawing a big hit and blowing the smoke out in a cloud.  
_

_"It's kind of liberating right? To smash your fears, I mean. That cockroach, you know, it really meant something for me seeing it all mashed like that. I freed myself from it. I think it was that night I realized...'Hey, Harl, you don't really wanna go through with med-school. So...to hell with it, I'll join the circus!'"_

To that he had responded with a silent nod and I couldn't distinguish if he was thoughtful or bored, or maybe if he'd seen through my lies. It felt good to be by his side that night because I could be someone else. I never killed that cockroach and I would never forget that sleepless night as I watched it creep around my room, unable to move or do anything about it. But the last part had some truth to it. It did push me a little bit to run off. I'd never thought I'd make it, but somehow I did. A miracle, maybe.

* * *

He's eighteen years old and he can't remember ever feeling so…alive. All those sleepless nights he'd had, dreaming of his freedom, questioning the rationality of his thoughts, plunging into insanity. All those impossibly cold nights when he'd been planning his escape…

But how would he escape? Where would he go? Perhaps it was too _late_ for him. **H** e w **a** s doomed to die, death by a kettle pot.

**H** ilarious. True **a** rt.

Him and mom, they shared _blood_. But blood can be spilled... and shed, and drained. Still, it does hurt, the rejection. It's not easy knowing you're the lesser son, the worthless son, the ugly son, the retarded son. The hated son.

_SLAM!_

Justice, mercy, duty, they are lies. They are fantasies humans make up to make life bearable…they need them to survive, to keep their heads in one place, them sleeping apes.

_SLAM!_

Freedom comes with a price. And fear...It comes with a lot of fear, with uncertainty. Humans hate the uncertainty. They want facts. They want safety. Freedom is...very unsafe.

_SLAM!_

It just doesn't make any sense. It doesn't make sense to take this; it doesn't make sense to let that kettle slam against his back, his hand wants to jerk out and grab it but doesn't move. It's... _**fear**_.

Fear that a single taste of freedom might push him over the edge.

_SLAM!_

When she cornered him with something heavy in hand he would retreat into those dark shelters of his mind. Before there was just emptiness, despair, disdaining of all that was human and questioning of all that was reason. The door to this place was locked with a key which he had always been looking for but was never able to find. A quivering fish out of the pond; poor Jerome. Little poor Jerome, the retarded odd ginger with a creepy laughter, always lurking in some library hall, always alone.

...Well, someone talks to him now, mom. Someone _likes_ him.

He won't let that someone slip away because of some stupid circus show.

* * *

The lights blinkered a bit as she finished adding glitters to her cheekbones. Short hair were caught up in a playful bunch of buns and Joe rolled the stage wheel towards her.

"He had this crazy idea last night," he muttered as he neared the girl, "said he wants to change the show to Russian Roulette. Can you believe the old man? I swear something's got into him lately…"

The girl chuckled. "I'm sure his fine…just a little…eccentric. You know he's old, like, 80 or what?"

"He's only fifty." Joe murmured as he started setting up the wheel. Jinx lowered the make-up brush from her face and turned around.

"You're kidding right?"

Joe chuckled at that and pulled the straps out. He'd memorized the size of her wrists and ankles aready. Soon she was getting up on the board, ready to go. But as Joe was strapping her left wrist a bunch of strawberry hairs popped behind the wheel. Joe jumped back and shook his head when he realized who it was.

"No need to scare me like that, boy. What you want?"

Jinx tried to look around but both her arms were strapped down and she couldn't. Behind the wheel, Jerome's eyes were traveling from the polished wood to Joe's bulky bicep and the abundance of bracelets around his one wrist; the hand there was obviously a tad discolored and odd looking. He didn't use his left hand much. The observation took a few seconds, during which there was a slight pause and then the muttering continued;

"Well, actually I wanted to wish good luck to Jinx, is she here by the way?"

It wasn't hard to recognize Jerome's trembling murmur. Joe violently turned the wheel around so that the front side was uncovered. She had to drag her feet around to keep her arms in place.

"Ouch!" she exclaimed, trying to find some balance in this awkward position. Jerome produced a shy smirk upon facing her. "Hey. Sorry for not turning up, I was kind of busy…" she eyeballed Joe who wouldn't leave. "Um…could you…give us a moment?"

"Yeap." The man begun to walk away.

"Uh…and undo those, please?" she said but he pretended to not have heard her.

"It's alright I'll help you out." Said Jerome and reached out to undo the right strap. She helped herself to the left one, noticing how he'd kept one hand behind his back the whole time.

"So, what…" she begun but was interrupted.

"I…brought you a gift!" he said, joyfully, his padded shoulders shifting lightly. "You know, a good luck gift for the show and all."

"Thanks…you really shouldn't have bothered, it's not like I _do_ anything special up there anyway."

"Well don't say that. It takes quite some..courage."

"Courage?"

"Grace under pressure."

"Oh. Thanks."

He bows his head a bit and slowly reveals the hand he'd been keeping behind his back the whole time. It's a bouquet of wildflowers. It doesn't look like much but she reminds herself that it's the gesture that matters.

"Thank you, they're lovely…" she begin to say, slowly sliding them off his grasp. A small smile rests on her sealed lips as she draws the bouquet closer to have a sniff. But it doesn't take long to feel the flowers shifting in her hand, moving as if they have life of their own. A dot of black scurries from one stem to the next-

The next second, the gift lies on the floor, accompanied by a scream.

* * *

There was a complete lack of sound before and the air would never be the same after it - after...that deafening shriek! I inhaled the shock in her distinct aroma. She tossed the flowers and stepped on them multiple times until the roach went flat with a squishy sound and juices stained the mashed flowers.

I could hardly make out her expression through tears of laughter.

She looked at me, such puzzlement in those big eyes.

Why such confusion in those eyes…such…a desperate plea for enlightenment…well, listen up, pretty little thing, I will show you the way…Hold on to your dear pal, Jerome! Let the show begin!

"What the hell is wrong with you!?"

She isn't laughing. I look at her, grab her face and squeeze it…come to think of it _, is she even real?_

"Jerome! Snap out of it!"

Small hands resist me. But I'm only trying to show you, dearie, that there's nothing to be afraid of…nothing worth fearing…you said it yourself, when you kill your fear, you can be _**free!**_

A sharp pain on the back of both hands. I pull back with a low yelp. Fresh blood pops out of sore scratch marks. She shakes her head and turns around, running off.

People…they are blind. They have sunk in an eternal sleep, pills prescribed by their own minds. To bend the bars you have to bend the logic.

And s **h** e c **a** n't help you, Jerome.

_'You're on your own.'_

_'No one is coming to help you, Jerome.'_

_'T **h** e world doesn't c **a** re about YOU, JeR0mE.'_

_Me against the world. Hm, I'll be damned._

_No it's quite funny… Budum chsssss…._

_HehehehehHEhHEheHEheHEheHEheHEheHEhehEheHEHehEHeHEheHEehEHEh_


	5. A fool in love

**I'm a fool for you baby**   
**I'm a fool right now**   
**People say I'm a man of means**   
**But my plans are full of holes**

**-UFO, 'A fool in love'**

* * *

Another loud thud as the blade lands right next to my cheek. I got used to the process after a while and was hardly ever upset about it. Tonight was different. My mind just would not move from that still of his forehead touching mine, both hands squeezing my face and that creepy cackle…I could remember it in agonizing detail. Even the little drops of spit that landed on my chin when he laughed, the odd smell of his coat's sleeve, the rough texture of his fingers.

Looking back on the nights he had been sitting next to me in a dark field by Gotham's river sent chills down my spine.

By the time the show was over I realized I'd gotten this stupid smile stuck on my face all night. It was completely mechanical at this point; you get up on stage, you let Dave present you to the audience -showing that you're indeed real, intact and willing to get strapped there and let him throw a bunch of daggers at you. Then he sharpens the knives in front of them -that always earns a few 'aaw's and 'ooh's. Then he does his little show dance and Joe starts spinning the wheel; it's all in the timing. I still haven't learned how they count the turns, but most of the circus knows by now. Once you realize it's a trick, however, it stops being impressive. It starts being cold and calculated and boring... like homework.

I suppose it is work, so it has to be boring. Though factual, the thought doesn't make me feel any better. The fact that Jerome's slip-up was the most interesting thing that happened to me all week is bothersome -well, and pathetic. So, thinking about it and wondering how I'd face him again was the main thing I chose to occupy myself with.

Coincidentally, I bumped on the snake-dancer just as she was getting off stage. She neared me, expecting congratulations but instead I bit my lower lip and faced her raised brow and said:

"Ms. Lila, I-"

" _Just_ Lila, hun." She cut me off sternly. Something about this woman was very authoritative. I compared her to the stereotype about sex-workers in my head and she had few things in common. Despite that, everyone knew and she didn't seem to care much.

"Lila. I-...um, your show was amazing!" I lied, a poor attempt to get on her good side. I could see that she saw right through it, but gave me a small smile regardless. "Can I ask you something?"

"I told you I won't do free hair cuts no more."

A nervous chuckle slipped up on my part. "I...no, it's not a haircut. I'm...It's about your son, actually." I could feel my face burning, fiddling with the rim of my shirt as I anticipated her response. She growled, rolled her eyes and huffed a;

"What he do this time?" He'd let me onto the fact she'd be ready to believe the worst about him. And to think I was about to back-stab him...it should have stopped me, but somehow the incident felt like a huge deal, something I just had to speak up about. Lila would understand.

* * *

He had a 'personal space'. It was in the back of the trailer, hidden behind the main room, mom's lair. That room separated him from the kitchen and so on some nights when she was busy in that room he had to starve and go to sleep famished. Perhaps this had been the trigger for many of his illusions while he was sleeping. Sometimes he thought he could even see the future in these dreams that lasted a night long and never escaped his memory.

If that all seemed like a recklessly deep dive for a boy his age with his little experience of life to grasp, let it be known that he had had countless sleepless nights to think about all these –randomly interrupted by his mother's moans in the next room. With all this time to himself, he often made mental notes of conversations, trying to understand.

_" 'The meaning of life', this sentence is stupid. Only fat men in suits talk about the meaning of life._ _That's why they force you into their perspective. They have money, they bought spare time and they decided what's right for them and told you to do it."  
_

_"Nooo. That's where you're wrong. 'Cause it ain't just them. It's also...the little cogs. You pull one cog out of the system and the whole thing just...falls apart! But so long as cogs are rolling, it runs smoothly. Like a card tower. You gotta pull one from the bottom to knock the whole thing over."_

_"...If you're talking about some kind of revolution, that's never going to happen."_

He rubbed his chin, crouched in his corner. Her voice echoed in his head. He recalled the beet red of her face as she shot both hands up in the air and choked on her own spit. No, he wasn't thinking about a 'revolution' of sorts. Revolutions are boring. They always lead to some new kind of established order. That's a cycle. You don't replace the broken cogs. You smash the cogs. You light up the fallen cards. Revolutions are about yelling and holding signs up; he's talking about gasoline.

People. T **h** ey t **a** ke life too… _seriously._ T **ha** t's why they never live, t **h** ey **a** re afraid to live.

"JEROME!"

Great. The bitch is back.

"Come here, now!"

He drags his feet on the way to the kitchen, eyes fixed on the trailer's floor. It's so humid in here. His mom is sitting on the table in her cheap-looking underwear that just scream 'prostitution' with that damned cigarette flooding the entire trailer with its stench. It's not so much the smell itself, as her presence; the fact she's doing it. It gets on his nerves. But her penetrating screams are ten times worse than the smoke.

"My feet hurt. Do you know why I work my ass off?" Here comes the nagging. "So that you can have a roof over your head! And you can't even do your fuckin' laundry. Useless." She hisses. But he's used to it by that point. Honestly, his expression doesn't even shift.

"Fine, you can't even help your own mother, can't 'ya at least keep your hands off of girls?" Ah, that one he did not see coming. "You're just like your father, disgusting."

"I didn't-"

"Shut UP!" She slams her hand on the table and the plastic glass she'd been dusting her cigarette in falls over, murky water splashing on the trailer floor. If he was younger his knees would probably be trembling in fear for what might follow. "Ugh, idiot! Why do I keep you around?" She huffs, then gestures towards a mop resting against the trailer's wall. He licks his lips, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "You're a waste of space. 'Least you can do is save me some trouble. Next time I hear you've been messing with some girl, they'll be looking for 'ya in a ditch, y' hear me?"

He's almost done mopping now. The smell is revolting. His mom blows out more smoke in his face as she yells.

"Loud and clear, sir!" The hint of a mocking tone in his voice as gives the trashcan by the sink a military salute is what would earn him a smack if he was any closer to her. But whatever courage he had left started to dissipate when he heard the familiar 'pop' of a whiskey bottle opening.

Soon after, said bottle arrived on the back of his head as he was doing the dishes with such force that it nearly knocked him out on the spot. He stumbled around dizzily as Lila pulled him up by the hair with such force that a fistful of ginger was left on her hand and locked him in the trailer's storage where his 'room' was. She hid the key under her pillow and she lay on the bed with a deep sigh. Look at that, her own son terrorizing the circus girl. She should have seen it coming, he must have taken from his father's side of the family.

* * *

Joe was a tall and buff man of few words; pretty much your standard muscular type of guy, usually found guarding the entrance to some night club downtown. That had indeed been his job before he lost his hand in some gun-fight. A prosthetic limb had done the job for simple tasks, such as rotating a wheel-board, but it was useless when it came to brawls. With an abundance of two-handed men to choose from, employers didn't show interest anymore. And thus he ended up in the circus. Even here, things had been difficult at first. The circus does house many oddities, but people were often put off by the pincher on his left arm. He found a way to cover it up by wearing a glove made of thick plastic over his prosthetic when on stage -and often times off stage as well, it did wonders for his appearance after all.

Having no feel off his left arm whatsoever, it would be near impossible to tell if someone were to remove that glove.

He didn't just go around blurting his life story, but news got around in the circus. There weren't that many performers and most of them belonged to families that founded this very brand. They were there to saw the first striped tents and set up the first boards and collect the first ever income in their hats. People who only joined for a short time were the exception. And even for those, news were often spread within days of their arrival. As in any small community, the only way to integrate was to blend in the circus crowd and if that meant sharing some obscure background details, you'd have to do it, because you needed your own identity to survive.

Even if that identity meant you'd be branded as the boy whose uncle poured hot soup on his pants then locked him outside the trailer all night to dry. Ugh. Either way, we have to be quiet now, because Joe's sleeping.

Temptation; a shiny red apple just asking to get bit, the hand lying idly by Joe's side as he snored peacefully.

The rush of walking a risky path; or rather, tip-toeing on a risky path, quietly and smoothly -and on short time too, because you just can't know when Joe's eyes might snap open -the wooden boards beneath our shoes might groan any second now...Our hand has to be gentle as it slowly lifts his by the wrist to slide the thick plastic off...

* * *

_A very bright room, white walls, white furniture, white light coming through a wide window. A stainless white floor with a fluffy carpet and three white glasses on a clean coffee table; the decor is minimalist and gives off a vibe similar to that of a doll-house. Curtains dance in a soft breeze that carries an aura of melancholy that doesn't match the sterilized living room it enters at all. It smells like wet autumn leaves and feels like the first winter chills of October._

_"Your father and I have decided to file for divorce."_

_Silence. There's no one in the room and yet mom's voice is loud and clear._

_"You don't have to worry about it influencing your education. You can continue to attend college."_

_Education? Mom. That's the last thing I thought about._

_"We'll be having lunch together tonight." That's father's voice, deep and raspy. "I want you to meet someone."_

_The sound of chimes comes from the front porch; the air must have breathed them to life. Comforting; jingle jingle..._

_"It's your fault! Ever since you came into our life the problems started! He dumped me because of you!" Mother's yells in the distance._

_"Your mother was always more loving of her daughter than her husband. You have to understand, Harleen, that while we both care about you, we're also human." Dad..._

_"Cut your hair? Are you trying to make yourself look more ugly? Is it because you're a lesbian? That's it, isn't it? What next, are you going to drop out of college too?"_

_The phone rings. A small hand picks it up. Dad's on the line, laughter on the background; "I'm sorry, I can't talk much, I'm out with Cecilia." Pause. "Stay with me for the weekend? Ah...I'm afraid me and Cecilia won't be in town. We have plans for Hawaii. Sorry, honey. You were always a difficult kid. Your mom just has to get used to that." The phone slips and crashes._

_"It's your fault he left!" Mom appears, her heels smashing against the cold floor. She throws her hands up in exasperation. "Get out! Get out of here, I don't want to see your face!"_

It was the dead of night. Angie and May, my roommates, were sleeping peacefully in their mattresses when I woke up in cold sweat. I had to find the trailer's wall and rest my back against it, trying to regain a sense of stability. My sheets had been kicked off of the mattress, scattered on the floor. After giving my head a good shake -it's just a dream, a stupid dream- I reached out to pull them back on my legs. It may have been a relatively warm night, but it was still humid in there.

_**CRASH!** _

"Eep!"

A rock came flying through the window. It made enough noise to startle the others too. I would have reacted, had I not been frozen in shock from the spectacle. A hand..crawled in through the hole in the window and tried to reach for the door's handle. The movement was slow, unnatural, nightmarish. The kind of thing that traumatizes you for life. Next moment Angie and May were up and screaming. I joined their choir and turned back to the door, only to see it had disappeared.

At first none of us moved, except to crawl to the corner furthest from the trailer's door and hold each other tightly as if those would be our final moments. But after the hand disappeared we merely heard footsteps and the outside went back to quiet. Glass shattering made a lot of noise, after all. Whoever did this probably hadn't thought it through. Angie talked us into approaching the door to see if we'd make out any figures. But there was no one outside.

All up until the early morning I was locked up in my trailer, crouched in a corner and enjoying the absence of my roommates. I still couldn't smoke inside though, they were as if allergic to it. I sighed, biting my lip as I glanced out of the broken window. As if the dream hadn't been enough, I now had thoughts of the incident to keep me up too. And I couldn't help but suspect Jerome had something to do with this. After he gave me a cockroach infested bouquet and laughed about it, he was the most suspicious person and he also had an alibi. I told on him yesterday. I told his mom about it, painting him in bad light. And if he found out he must have been upset to say the least.

There came the paranoia, fueled by guilt.

A cold breeze passed through and wrapped around my shaking shoulders. I went to reach for my coat but never made it to the door. Three knocks had me frozen in my spot. A figure wasn't hard to make out through the slit of glass on the trailer's door.

During the night Angie and May had saved me with their screeching. Now it was just me in the trailer and I doubted I would have the chance to scream. I slid my hand beneath the kitchen table searching for the jackknife we'd duck-taped under there in case of emergency. My nails desperately clawed the surface of tape to peel it off and I grabbed the knife, hiding it in my first. When I opened the door I made sure that hand was behind my back.

It was Joe. He watched me shrink as I breathed out all the air I'd been holding.

"Y' ok, gal?" I responded with a nod. "Look, I ain't 'ere t'a talk but y' know if there's somethin' going on…"

"Get it over with, Joe." I hissed, clenching the switchblade in my grasp.

"Okay okay, jee, if y' this worked up before y'even hear 'bout it…." He murmured. I raised a brow.

"Huh?"

"Word is Dave won't come out of his trailer. Again."

I could feel my eyes ready to pop out of my sockets and a sharp noise as the pocket-knife dropped from my loose grip and trembled on the floor.


	6. Poor, poor Jerome

**Typical girls get upset to quickly**   
**Typical girls can't control themselves**   
**Typical girls are so confusing**   
**Typical girls - you can always tell**

_**-The Slits, 'Typical girls'** _

* * *

First Samantha, now the Dagger-Master. It was very ironic; both of these people worked so closely to the blade all of their lives, their entire existence revolved around knife-play…and yet they both found death off the stage. Or, did they?

Half the circus' crew had gathered around the Dagger-Master's tent. There was a fuss, and a strong potential for a fight. It wasn't just about Dave, the Dagger-Master anymore. It had now, yet again, become about the time-old feud that plagued the circus; Graysons and Lloyds along with their supporting parties were each blaming the other for poor Dave's fate. One could only wonder how, with such hatred blossoming in their hearts, they hadn't torn each other's throats out by now. Joe, the Dagger-Master's right hand and technician, was standing between Alfonso and Owen with his strong arms holding the two men at distance from each other as they continued to yell and spit. There was yelling, and a few cries, but what reigned was the heavy stench of fear; fear for who might be next.

Jinx's fists were clenched tightly against her bony hips. In that morning's dim sunlight, a gloominess most Gothamites were accustomed to, her skin looked twice as pale and malnourished. But even that sickly yellow was nothing compared to the boy behind her; Jerome's shade of pale had a characteristic tinge of clown-white. His lips stood out in stark contrast, appearing slightly swollen and unnaturally red, as if he was under allergic shock. The lower one had an odd tremble to it. For one with such eerie appearance, his posture would remind one of a dog cowering in fear. His scarce brows were furrowed, each creating a perfect arch and meeting at the top of his forehead; an apologetic expression.

One moment, she was staring at the fight about to break out. Her expression was void of emotion, yet obviously in deep thought. A still of that moment would be quite hilarious; the boy standing right behind her, completely still and quiet, with his hand inches away from her back, about to send her into a full-blown panic attack, and the girl in front of him completely unaware of it. Knowing what would come next, poor Jerome had to hold all his giggles in.

A light tap on the shoulder later, she'd jumped out of her own skin and lay on the floor in shock.

"Y-You!" She gasps, clearly out of breath. It takes a few seconds to regain her composure. The pale hand extended towards her –a peace offering- seems to further aggravate her, if anything. Her little chest is heaving up and down, tiny nostrils sucking in as much oxygen as they can get, as if the air itself will help her up. "You did this!" The accusation comes in a loud bark, but it doesn't draw enough attention –not with the fuss going on with the background. They're standing a bit further away from the crowd.

_Just the right spot for a good ol' lover's spat._

Jerome's brows arch further, nearly blending into his hairline. "..Me?" There comes the confused head tilt, the puppy eyes, the hand on his heart. Jinx's scowl barely falters, however. "That's very offensive, I hope you know." He sounds sincerely hurt. Then again, he could be faking it.

"Don't play dumb! You were outside my trailer last night!" She spits, using her elbows to push herself back up on her feet. "You smashed your hand through my window!"

Jerome doesn't respond. In the pause that follows, she's still pointing at him aggressively while the redhead stares in confusion. Finally, he tilts his head ever so slightly towards the ground, chin pointing to his bare hands –both of which are unscathed. The accusatory pointed finger is slowly lowered as the girl's stare follows his, then falls idly against her hip.

Impossible. It's impossible.

"Glo-" Gloves. She won't even say it; where would he find gloves to protect him from this much damage? It was shattered glass, for heaven's sake! It should have left a scratch!

He takes advantage of her shock to speak up, the usual murmur barely audible over Owen's growls in the background.

"I know you're upset from the other day, but, please, please hear me out." His hand moves from his chest to the space between them, reaching out to her just like his words. But she is stiff, even taking a step back as he approaches; there's something about his apologetic demeanor that's odd in a specific and yet abstract way. It's not fake, it doesn't look like he's pretending. But it doesn't have the feel of an authentic apology either.

"I didn't mean to startle you. I didn't know the roach was in those flowers, I just plucked 'em out of the field by the river and never noticed. When you got startled-… I just…" He seems hesitant, and then he finally cracks; "-I thought it was funny! Like when I chocked on your cigarette! You laughed then. And I did too. Because…it's funny! Right?" A soft giggle. It didn't sound as odd as the last time. She was expecting him to burst out in those maniacal cackles any second…but he seemed different today. The odd vibe she'd gotten before dissipated once he confessed; he just found it funny.

It now sounded like awkward banter between friends. Jinx suddenly felt her back weighing down on her; spine bending into a hunch, just as Jerome's had before. And he seemed to have noticeably straightened up now. Actually, she wouldn't have a hard time believing that the only reason he'd behaved so strangely at first…Was because he felt guilty. Yes, guilty for just laughing at her back there in a friendly manner. Just a funny moment between friends. She had wanted to ask why he grabbed her like that, but it now felt very rude to ask that. Because, honestly, he might as well have been trying to calm her down –she had been screaming like she saw a ghost after all. All for a little cockroach.

And she went and told his mom he'd been harassing her. And got his back all bruised up. And took advantage of the fact he'd shared how bad things are in his trailer.

Yet…Jerome simply apologized and wore a nice smile.

Not much of a response. Jerome scratches the back of his head with an awkward shrug, shoulders hunching again in a submissive position. "…Uh…anyway. I just wanted to say sorry I freaked you out like that. It…It wasn't my intention. But I understand why you're upset."

As his neck moved to the side, she could clearly see the bruise marks peeking through the collar of his shirt, crawling up his back. Poor, poor Jerome.

There's a small pause.

"…Apology accepted."

His chin lifted ever so slightly, shoulders heaving as he drew in a breath of relief. She returned the smile, though frail and bittersweet. His hands rested on the side of his hips for a moment, then were withdrawn on top of his chest where his fingers fiddled idly. Jinx bit her lower lip and turned around to approach the fuss now. She didn't turn back to see if the boy would follow, but he did anyway.

A bony shoulder shoved its way between a couple of the Grayson crew. Her faded blue hair, caught in a high bun, had a dark tint to it, framing her cold expression as she approached the trailer's entrance. It only took a look, one quick glance at the inside; the still body atop of the bed, stiff in an unnatural manner- she didn't dare approach further.

Frozen in fear she turned back to the feud and neared Joe, seeking some comfort in the one person who worked closely with Dave, apart from her. There was some sentiment there; she did see Dave and talk to him on the daily. And despite being a bit forgetful –and occasionally calling her 'Samantha' which was very creepy considering the latter's fate- Dave was sort of a nice man. Jinx felt an odd connection to Joe over the fact they both knew the man –perhaps a delusion.

On his one side, the skinny girl was wiping salty tears from her cheeks. Around him, the Lloyds and Graysons were finally breaking it off, not even close to coming to terms, but deciding to put their feud aside for now and abide to the Ringmaster's warnings. Right next to him, the pale ginger boy, whose mom he'd visited a few times in the past.

Jinx closed the distance between her and the tall man with a sigh. Joe returned the favor, wrapping an arm around the girl's shoulders as gently as he could –he was quite bulky after all. The rings and bracelets around his wrist did little to conceal the skin-tone difference between his palm and the rest of his exposed arm, even under this dim light. Jerome's penetrating gaze followed the movement; something…peculiar lurked in his eyes; bitterness? Jealousy? Perhaps both, or neither. But certainly… _mischief._

He swallowed a cackle and his head fell to the side; "Um, Mr. Joe, are you alright? You've got a scratch." A long, thin finger pointed to Joe's left hand. The voice interrupted their little moment and Jinx let the large man go and took a reluctant step back after breaking the hug. Two pairs of hazel eyes followed Jerome's pointer finger.

"Woke up like this." Joe grumbled, lifting his own hand to examine it. There was an odd pattern on those scratches; almost as if he'd shoved his hand somewhere. They all moved to one direction, save for a few random ones. They weren't swollen, or showed signs of blood, betraying the fact Joe's left hand was made of plastic.

Suddenly, the girl gasped quite audibly. A few acrobats standing beside her were momentarily startled by the gasp. A skinny hand rested on her gaping mouth, covering her teeth. A strawberry head tilted to the side, observing said movement with bewilderment.

_Dang it, this girl and her teeth. Am I really asking for that much?_

"The window! The glass-…" No, it couldn't be. Joe wouldn't do that. Joe had no alibi. He was a man of few words but he had always been nice to her. Well, moderately nice. Okay, he was a brute, but that was still 'nice' for a man who'd grown up in the circus, she thought. "I-…it-…." More stutters. People's attention was on the scene now. Her gaze rose from Joe's scratched prosthetic hand to browse for Jerome, but there was no trace of ginger around suddenly.

"Y' okay, sugar?" It was Ben Lloyd. He approached slowly, offering to wrap his coat around the shaking girl.

"Poor thing!" Mary Lloyd joined in from the crowd. She was much closer to Jinx's age than the rest. That was comforting.

"Last night, in my trailer- …Someone tried to get inside, last night. B-broke… the window. It was me, Mag and Angie in the trailer, we all saw…" It couldn't be. Just the possibility that she'd been working so closely with the man who strangled both her predecessor and Dave himself…And for what reason!?

"What did you see?" Ben was getting impatient.

"…we saw a hand…breaking the window…"

Another step away from the tall man. Joe's bushy brow had been raised while she spoke, but it melted into an expression of absolute shock when she was done speaking. His first instinct was to raise his left hand, but he quickly realized that this was a one-way ticket to some circus justice. Instead, he started to withdraw it into his pocket. Jinx's eyes were on his face now, though, her expression confessing her horror. Ben's eyes followed the girl's and so did Mary's.

Thus, Joe's poor attempt to hide the 'evidence' was busted before it begun.

"Those scratches look damn well suspicious." Ben commented, a scowl painted on his face as he neared the taller man. Joe took a step back.

"What more proof we need, take 'im in!" That was Owen Lloyd growling from somewhere in the back of the small crowd that was now surrounding Joe. Mary wrapped her arms around Jinx and held the girl close in a comforting hug.

"I-It wasn't me, I tell 'ya! Why'd I hurt my boss, or the girl, or Sammy? For fuck's sake! We's been workin' together for years! I ain't some kinda lunatic, y'know that!"

But his words would never sound as anything but excuses when a scratched hand was swinging in the air as he spoke.

"You sick bastard!" Alfonso Grayson stepped forward. It was around that time the Ringmaster arrived in a fast pace, his belly pouring out of a pair of old red pajama pants. He was out of breath, it seemed, probably had woken up a mere few minutes ago. "You murdered the man! And you went for the girl too! What kind of monster would turn against his own crew?!"

A chanting had already begun to rise from the crowd; _'Monster! Monster!', 'Killer!', 'Burn him!'_

Jinx felt a few sobs escape her lips, face pressed tightly into Mary Lloyd's chest. The older girl rubbed her back in an affectionate manner.

"It wasn't me!" Joe kept yelling back. In the end, him and Alfonso were so close to each other, and Joe was so stressed from the chanting crowd and the accusations, that his scratched hand had flown towards Alfonso's face before he even knew it. A few screams were heard. It knocked the acrobat down cold. And it was all the proof the circus needed at that moment.

The Ringmaster's whip slashed the air between the two men in half, its cracking a thundering sound in the ears of the circus.

"Round him up, boys!" The Ringmaster called. Joe seemed like he'd put up a fight at first and it did take three fully grown men to pin him down. But at the end of the day, he stood a slim chance to escape anyway. And soon enough he was being dragged away from the crowd that spat and kicked him on his way to the animal cages.

Jinx's eyes were red and swollen by the time the crowd had dissipated, most of them still talking about the incident. It wasn't going to be a quiet morning, but they still had a show to run tonight. And performing came before all else. Thus, Mary Lloyd had to break the comforting hug. And though she offered the poor girl some company for later, there wasn't much more she could do at the time.

Add to the fuss, the troubles, the emotional shock, the Ringmaster approached with a grim scowl and furrowed brows.

"Who's gonna run tonight's show then? It's already booked and I ain't stayin' in this goddamn city for another bloody week!"

If Jinx didn't hate drawing attention to herself so much, she would probably have broken down right there and then. Because what's better than having knives thrown at you after your boss just got murdered by your colleague?

"A-And who will do it?!" She protested, but it sounded more like a plea. Traces of mascara from last-night's makeup had now ran down her cheeks, leaving thin vein-like trails of black on her cheeks. "Can anyone, even!?"

The Ringmaster's brow twitched. He didn't seem persuaded in the slightest; however he did give her an understanding pat on the shoulder. His heavy hand shook the girl's entire frame –though she had already been quivering for a while now.

"It's just counting, dear. And we can spare one from the sideshow to do it-…but I'm still missing someone for the wheel…" The Ringmaster mused thoughtfully. His voice was so relaxed, as if a man hadn't just been murdered in his own circus. Then again this man had worked for said circus so long that he'd probably seen and covered up similar instances before. Jinx hadn't processed that thought before today.

"I can handle the wheel!" A ginger head popped behind a few shoulders, arm raised as he called out. His voice was momentarily stripped from the usual mutter, but it was back the second a few performers pushed him to the front and exposed his presence to the Ringmaster. "If-…if that's alright with you, sir."

There was a small pause, a few cackles. Jerome was the center of attention now. And it wasn't good attention, for sure. The Ringmaster took a long look at the boy…then smiled.

"Does your momma know 'bout this?"

A few laughed. The Ringmaster patted Jerome on the back a bit too forcefully, playing it off as a lighthearted joke. The boy stumbled forward.

You'd expect Jerome's cheeks to have some kind of color at that comment. But, no, he merely lowered his head and seemed a tad more shaky than usual. Poor Jerome. Ridiculed like that in front of the whole circus…it must hurt. It must feel horrible. And to know you've contributed to some of these bruises; the guilt alone is a heavy burden to bare. In fact, Jinx can feel a light burn running down her spine –or, is it a shiver?

"I'm alright with him doing it."


	7. Happy accidents!

**Temptations all around me**

**but I've got no choice**

**emotions of an animal**

**on a tightened lead**

**\- Voices, Sham 69**

* * *

Lights blinked around the circular mirror, gently placed against a wooden board. It had been crookedly nailed in place a while back as the rusty nail-heads would betray. The mirror itself was not real glass; that kind of thing would be destined to shatter when the equipment would inevitably get packed back in its boxes and the circus would be on the move. It was some odd kind of reflective plastic, cheap-looking and a bit blurry. But it did the job for a quick touch-up.

Skinny fingers were tightly wrapped around a red lipstick. For all the strength of her grip, the stick itself was shaky, trembling with the rest of her hand. It just couldn't stay still.

And it made a lot of sense. She'd never seen a corpse before today. Much less, a corpse that'd been strangled in their sleep. The image of Dave's pale face as he lay flat, breathless, with those hideous bruise-marks around his exposed neck…She couldn't help but draw a chilling parallel to the paleness of her own face in contrast with bright circus makeup. The thought alone had her hand quivering violently, making it impossible to add the finishing touch; a set of bright red lips.

Poor Samantha. And poor Dave, too. Whatever had they done to that maniac, Joe, to deserve this? And to think she'd let the man strap her on the wheelboard, literally tie her hands down…Just the thought of Joe's prosthetic hand crawling up her chest, wrapping around her small neck and… squeezing!

She shook her head with a small gasp then hurried to apply the lipstick. Focus on the color, Harl. Just the color. One line drawn from her cupid's bow to the tip of her lip, then back to the center to do the other side-

Wait a minute, was that a footstep she just heard?

Hazel eye snaps to the corner of her eyeball, widening in shock and- " _AH_!"

Her hand jerked, drawing a red line across her cheek; a half-smile. She turned around and slammed her back against the wooden chair with a racing breath. On a set of black leather boots, knee-high, stood Jerome. But he looked nothing like what she'd expected to see, honestly. His hair was slicked back, with a single strawberry strand playfully dancing around his forehead. She allowed herself to admit he looked good in the tight red shirt. He had the potential to be handsome, at least. Come to think of it, she'd never seen him outside his usual attire –a coat and some boring plaid sweater.

"Did I scare you?" He asked. A smirk was playing on his lips as the question was rhetorical at the least; even the way he phrased it had a touch of vanity that the girl shrugged off as if it'd been some childish tease.

"Today's a hell of a day." She commented dryly, then sighed. Jerome's gaze fell to the lipstick on her cheek. He pointed to it whilst biting down on his lower lip. Following his gesture, she reached up to feel the wet stain and rolled her eyes before reaching for some paper towel from the counter. But a single piece of dry paper wouldn't do. It smeared the stain and rubbed it into the skin. Her persistence in rubbing only seemed to make things worse. "Fuck me…" She growled, then rubbed harder.

The boy approached slowly, with a huff.

"Hey, gimme that." He'd snatched the paper before she had a chance to say 'huh'. Her stare moved to his hand, now holding the red-stained towel. He flipped it around in his hand, good-side up. And then he spat a good load of saliva on it. The girl's expression got dead serious within seconds. Jerome seemed rather focused on the task at hand.

"You're kidding, right?" An awkward chuckle. She didn't have much of a chance to resist, before his fingers were wrapped around her chin and forcing her head around to allow him access to the stain. He leaned closer, then pressed the wet paper tip against her stained cheek. It was a sensation that could have one empty their stomach on the spot.

_It's water, Harl. Just think of it like water._

Her face scrunched up in disgust but that did little to deter him as he carefully wiped off the stain. He seemed to notice the expression, however, and let out a small snicker. When he was done her cheek was wet and smelled of spit…but at least it was presentable.

"…Um. Thanks?" She mumbled, brows scrunching up in uncertainty. He was standing so close to the chair that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body –or…was that some kind of odd energy? She couldn't understand the emotions it brought up. He merely nodded in response.

"I think you have something on your teeth right there-" A thumb reached down to her mouth, pressing on her bottom lip, but was met with resistance; a sharp turn of the head. He pressed on, for a mere second. Then he let go and finally stepped away, relieving the pressure.

"No." She took the chance to stand up and pat down on her shirt and the tight leather shorts she'd forced around her waist, making sure to keep a distance between them. "Can we just get it over with? It's been a _loooooong_ day. My bed's waiting for me."

For a moment she could swear he scowled at that, but he'd turned around on heel the next. The Wheel of Death was parked in the middle of the tent, not quite as heavy as it looked. Joe had polished it fairly recently, but the cuts were still there. Most of the time they'd cover them up with stickers or a fresh coat of paint; it had to look new, as if the Dagger-Master never had to practice in order to get it right.

Dave had been naturally blind from birth, but his knife-throwing skills had been perfected over the years. He only had to throw them in a straight line. Joe did the rest, by timing the wheel's turns. Dave's knives always flew straight, though. Tonight Ryder, a man from the petting zoo who had been aspiring to continue Dave's art would take a shot at it. Even if he'd been practicing for a while, it was doubtful that his knives would all fly in a perfectly straight route. On top of that, Joe wasn't here to rotate the wheel. Jinx had to rely on the promise of Ryder and Jerome timing the throws well.

It did hurt a little bit to know that the performers chose to go through with this, potentially lethal, show instead of just returning the money for all pre-sold tickets. But…it was money. She could understand that.

"..Just knowing I'd let that creep put straps 'round my hands…Ugh, _yuck._ " She said, in an attempt to withdraw from her own thoughts. Her whole face scrunched up. Standing beside the Wheel of Death, let out a chuckle that may have been sarcastic.

"It's nice to know he won't be near you anymore." He muttered. There was some profound innocence in his tone and yet it was incredibly ambiguous; she couldn't tell if she'd found the comment creepy or thoughtful. Jerome…probably meant well, didn't he? He was just an awkward boy, poor Jerome. "Shall we go, then? It's about time, and I like to be sharp." He snickered to himself.

She found herself feeling a touch of icy cold sweat run down the entirety of her back. Only one thought kept her going at that moment, and it was the thought of asking the Ringmaster to be assigned to some other task from tomorrow on. Without Dave, this show would probably get cancelled. Luck was on her side, it was a good turn of events, it must have been! What's the worst that could happen?

Well, she could get a knife pinned to her throat. All color had drained from her face by the time they'd reached the backstage, her strut only surfacing after the first beam of spotlight graced her tiny frame.

Up there on the stage, things always got real. The odd colors -red and blue, alternating with a few touches of indigo in between- the countless sets of eyes watching, waiting. It induced a lot of anxiety, but at the same time brought an addictive rush.

For a newbie, Ryder sure had a lot of charisma. He was already on scene when they got the mark to step up as well, putting up his own little show. The crowd cheered, for he may have not thrown a single knife yet, but his presence gave promise of a great show to come. There was an odd bunch on stage now; Ryder, tall and rather handsome with a thick beard and the Dagger-Master attire -he looked somewhat like a majestic wizard villain, Jinx, a clearly teenage girl on the borders of anorexia and Jerome, a sickly-looking ginger with a peculiar posture pushing the Wheel of Death on stage.

At that, Ryder instantly bowed, then pranced away to reach for Jinx's hand. She was already smiling -hiding her teeth behind red lips, as per usual. He spun her around, just as the Ring Master called out their names; "Give it up, for David Goliath, master of the blade!" More cheers. "And his charming side-kick, Jinx!" Ryder forces her hand up discreetly, insinuating she's supposed to strike a pose. "Are David's knives going to favor her tonight? Or is her bad luck going to catch up to her at last...on the Wheel of Death?!" The lights were a bit blinding as they landed on the Wheel and Jerome had to lift a hand up and cover his eyes, which earned a laugh from the audience.

Music turned up in the background. Ryder pulled out a few knives and started showing them to the audience, then sharpening one whilst making all sorts of overly dramatic expressions. It earned a few cheers. Meanwhile Jinx did a cartwheel back towards the board, where a gloved hand was waiting for her. Jerome helped her up on the little step, then tied the straps, all while Ryder was putting on a blindfold. She tried not to quiver, but she couldn't help the sweat that was now pouring down her forehead. Jerome pulled the strap rather violently, pressing it on her wrist to the point where it hurt. She tried to signal that it was too tight, but he didn't seem to listen. Honestly, watching Jerome's expression as he tightened the straps...he seemed a bit aggravated; annoyed, perhaps even angry. For a moment some paranoid thoughts about revenge and her telling on him to his mom passed by, but were quickly swept away as the music lowered and the crowd went quiet. She turned around to witness Ryder preparing to throw his first knife. Jerome's fingers were around the wheel's handle, securing it in place. She put on the same fake smile as per usual.

Ryder pulled his hand back and-

_THUD!_

Knife in the wood. Right next to her cheek. The crowd cheered. Jerome's upper lip twitched. Ryder turned around and gave the audience a little bow, then held up three fingers to signify he'd be throwing three knives all at once. Jinx felt the light movement of the wheel under Jerome's hand as he prepared to spin it. One...Two...

Spin! And _thud! Thud! Thud!_

She had failed to keep her eyes open. The spinning, the lights and fuss combined with the anxiety were already giving her a headache. Ryder was yet again doing his thing, bowing, pulling out more knives and hyping up the audience. The wheel returned to its normal position and she glanced towards Jerome. He looked extremely pissed off! It made no sense whatsoever, because everything had went well this far. Her puzzled expression was never met with his glance, however, because Jerome's gaze was fixed on Ryder. Jinx could feel tiny drops of sweat streaming down her forehead. Two more numbers and she'd be free to go crawl under her sheets and cry out some stress.

Ryder held three knives in one hand now and the audience was cheering him on. The music lowered again, but this time there was a drumroll too. She watched his hand withdraw, ready to shoot. She felt the hint of movement coming from Jerome as he prepared to spin. She closed her eyes. One...Two...

Spin! And _thud! Thud! Splash!_

_"Oh my god!"_

Screaming. Not the right kind of screaming; not the 'woah I can't believe he did that blindfolded' kind of screaming. She could feel something moist and warm on her thighs. The pressure around her face had her realize she was still hanging upside down. The headache got worse. She opened her eye just in time to watch a single drop of red land on her cheek. It rolled down towards her forehead. More screaming. Everything moved slowly now; but, apart from the buzz in her head...there was no pain. Her eye caught glimpse of more red running down her thighs, staining her white and blue shorts; they were painted a vivid red and blue now.

Her legs, though...apart from one of them being covered in blood, they were intact. They didn't hurt.

And then she saw _it_.

Hovering right in front of her right leg, a pale hand was holding the knife in midair. Had it landed, uninterrupted from its course, it would've stabbed her right in the hip.

Noise blurred into the background. Her eye snapped to meet Jerome's face, his lips trembling, his entire expression scrunched up in pain. Running down her thighs...that was his blood. If it hadn't been for him, she'd have a knife pinned to her thigh. His hand opened, shaking violently, and dropped the knife. With a hiss he dropped to his knees and grabbed his own palm to stop the bleeding, all whilst a couple of clowns approached in a hurry to help. That was around the moment where it all faded to black for her.

Ryder tugged his blindfold down and looked at the bleeding boy in shock. He couldn't have missed, it was timed...it was impossible! Jerome's face was towards the ground now, but he did look up for a mere second; just enough to meet Ryder's face. In the havoc that was spread in the audience and the panic backstage, the two men shared a look; Ryder's was one of surprise but Jerome's was one of malice. A grin was slowly painted on the boy's expression and Ryder could have sworn he saw Jerome winking at him. The next moment, though the Ringmaster had called the show off, people were complaining and there was the threat of someone throwing a tantrum.

But w **h** o c **a** res about ticket revenue and reputation?

The crowd **ha** d cheered for _him_.

_He won._

 


	8. Gaslit to tears

 

**Why have you put so many things into my eyes**  
**That I can't see clear**  
 **Who's paid you for telling me what I'm worth**  
 **And run in fear**

**\- 'Teargas', Katatonia**

* * *

_'..the walls were dripping! It was cute. You could see the rain coming down like someone was hosing from the top of the house and all the while I was ready…It was so pretty, it was raining."_

Static.

_''Just… *whistle*, why can't we stay here? It's pretty.'_

White noise infiltrates her ears; stinging. A beat fades into the background, dancing in the static of a poor radio signal. The device is sitting all the way across the room.

_'As you go backward in time, the universe becomes more simple, as you approach this golden moment. Process…'_

She tries to shift on the cheap mattress. It groans as if in pain and she joins it with a low hum. Trailers don't have much space, certainly not for bed frames. Those who travel with the circus sleep on mattresses that lay on the floor, piled on each other, sometimes resting on a trailer surface if one is available. The ones on the floor soak up all the moisture and leave the user feeling damp in the morning. It's not the kind of thing you'd want to sleep on if you're not a fan of humidity.

"Morning, princess." It's May's voice. The short girl is sitting by the trailer's window. Her hands are busy working on something, but having barely managed to crack her eye open a slit, Jinx can't tell what it is. "Sleep well?" The irony is there, even for the ears of one who just woke up in a trance. There's no response at first, as Jinx makes a poor attempt to sit up and open her eyes. Immediately, an array of odd rainbow colors forms in the corner of her vision, followed by a sharp pain in the back of her head. She reaches a hand up to rub the top of her neck with a groan.

_'Ooooooh….ha!...oooooh….aaaah…'_

She squints, using that same hand to pinch the top of her nose. Everything feels numb. As she attempts to speak she realizes how dry her throat feels, a voice sore and raspy barely audible over the beat; "Off. Turn it off."

May doesn't seem to notice the plea at first, but eventually catches enough glimpses of her roommate struggling to get up and gets the message. It's a vintage radio and her long nails reach out to tilt the volume button and lower the music. Jinx's pathetic attempts to sit up continue, eventually leading up to a small victory –she managed to support her weight on both hands.

"You're such a cry-baby." May laughs. "If I were in your shoes I'd be flyin' high as a kite, now. That bastard would've been coming for 'ya next. And you got t'a keep yo' head last night, which is always nice." More laughter. Her voice echoed in the girl's head, bouncing back and forth on the walls of her mind. It was…exhausting to say the least.

"Ugh." With a thud, Jinx's back had crashed against the trailer wall for support. The collision made things blurry again, but only for a moment. Her hazy gaze travelled from the table, where May was tinkering with something, to her lap. Her thighs looked more malnourished than usual. She could easily blend in with the junkies downtown. Without the fancy glittering tights and the shiny leather shorts she was nowhere near performance material.

"Your lil' boyfriend saved your ass. How sweet." May continued in the same mocking tone as before. Jinx's eyes were fixed on her own legs now. It took almost a minute to realize that they were bare. She lifted a hand and observed its nudity too. Patting her torso, she was relieved to find out that she was at least wearing a long shirt.

"…Did you…take my clothes off?" She muttered groggily, returning her gaze to May. It was met with a scoff.

"I mean, I could've let 'ya sleep blood-soaked. But you know, I've heard that blood-stains are impossible to scrub." She shrugged as if she was talking about the lightest of subjects. Her attention seemed to be mostly on the object she was fiddling with. "Your outfit's in that pile in the corner, by the way. Sorry, but I'm not gonna do your laundry for 'ya, girlfriend." She cackled. Having regained some of her clarity now, Jinx could make out the q-tips laid out on the table in front of May, right beside two bags of hard candy.

Weak arms pushed her weight up on wobbly legs. She had to stand still for a few moments and try to regain her sense of balance. A sharp pain stung the front half of her head now and she squeezed her eyes shut, hands reaching for something to support herself with. After a few moments of wrestling with gravity she was finally able to take a step forward and approach the table. May watched her close in with a smirk, cutting the edges off the q-tips all the while. Jinx's hands slammed on the table as she leaned on it for balance, then found her way to the nearest fold-up chair and crashed on it like a sack of potatoes.

"Ff-fuck me…" A deep sigh, then she takes another shot at opening her eyes and turns towards May's little project all sprawled out on the table. The candy is already in plastic bags, the original wrapping peeled off and dumped in a corner. Sticks are getting lined up. A camping gas was set up on the kitchen counter. Jinx observed it in silence for a full minute –well, near-silence, music was still playing in the background, albeit more quiet.

"I'm making lollies. But we don't have the kinda pot I need to melt them." May explained. "Angie's supposed to pick one up later from Zack at the 'dog stand." Angie was known to be the most forgetful of the three. She was cheerful and light-hearted, nothing like May, but definitely not someone you could rely on.

The promise of food had Jinx's stomach file some audible complaints in the form of a grumble. She pinched her nose bridge and let out another sigh. Food sounded good right now, but they didn't have much in the trailer. None of them cooked. For the most part they ate cheap canned food or hoped for an invite to eat with fellow performers. That wasn't usually a problem, because Jinx was the type who forgot to eat or skipped her meals completely most of the time. But after passing out last night it was probably wisest to grab a bite.

"I'll go. Now." Her first attempt to push herself up failed miserably, but the second one was a success. She stumbled to the pile of clothes next to her mattress. The only garments available, though, were a pair of dirty jeans. A huff and a grunt followed this discovery. "…I'm borrowing the shirt." With that she picked up the pants and slid inside them, then tucked the draping shirt in. Had she been someone with cleavage, this shirt would be on the revealing side. But on her it looked more like a tablecloth on a twelve year old's body. It wasn't time to debate body-image issues, though, so she focused on finding her shoes instead. With this ragged outfit on, she stumbled on her way to the trailer's door, and then paused right in front of the handle. "…He's not my boyfriend." With that, she was out, closing the door and leaving behind a cackling May.

Outside their trailer the atmosphere was different. The camp was quiet, but only in a calm manner. It was probably near-noon, judging from the sky. An autumn chill brushed past her exposed arms and sent shivers coursing through her body. She shoved both hands in her pockets and kept them stuck on her sides to preserve some body heat. There were few people going about their business, some packing, others unpacking, most occupied with something more important than a shivering girl. Sometimes the circus showed compassion, but money always came first. If you had friends, like she had May and Angie, you were a bit better off than the rest, because sometimes they'd be there for you to help with the bare minimum.

Life on the road was hard. But it was also unique and adventurous. And for those who couldn't compromise with a 9 to 5 job and the yearly vacation, Haly's Circus offered something new; something exciting. Having lived on the other side of the coin most of her life, the girl known as 'Jinx' found a special kind of comfort in this new lifestyle. She wasn't experienced, particularly talented or pretty. She wasn't even average circus material. The circus was a dangerous place, especially for girls travelling alone, but in her mind, it was nothing compared to home.

She'd been there for quite some time now, long enough to know which families had founded the circus, which were in feuds, how to avoid taking place in said feuds and which people were safe to turn to. And yet all this time, up until yesterday's night, she'd been thinking of this as a trip, more than a lifestyle. There was always this shadow over her mind; the threat that her parents would find out where she'd ended up somehow. She was living a thrill, but it felt like one of those things that would eventually come to an end; it would be the story she'd tell her own kids when she'd hit 30.

Because true freedom isn't about physical circumstance. It's all in the _mind._

As she passed by familiar wagons and greeted a few faces with a shy nod, she thought about yesterday; the sight of Dave's corpse, the permanency of death, Jerome's blood pouring on her leg, the Wheel of Death… Anyone would be shocked and confused after a day like this. But for some reason the feeling that prevailed in her heart above all others at the time was a devastating boredom. Because today there would be no show, and Dave's body would be cleaned up by now and Jerome's hand-…

Jerome's hand. Whatever happened with that, she wondered.

As she closed in on the familiar snack stand a variety of different smells hit her nostrils. It seemed tasty, but it was too heavy a whiff for someone on an empty stomach. She wondered if Zack could cook something that wasn't deep fried in a week-old oil bucket, something simple, like a bagel. Still somewhat in a haze, she approached the stand and climbed on the bar supporting it, pinning its wheels to the ground, for a better view.

Zackary Trumble was a man of average size with a peculiar expression; you couldn't tell if he looked sweet or stern half the time. He had an odd charm about him, he wasn't ugly –perhaps even considerably more handsome than most circus workers. But he definitely had an odd expression at times. The kind of expression that reminded you of his occupation. And the kind of expression that could make a girl like Jinx very uncomfortable. Especially when she was there on her own and had a shirt draping that low into her chest.

"Hey." A quiet call, her voice was still raspy. It got the man's attention though, even though he'd been busy stirring a pot of soup in the back of the counter. The smell of broth and spices made Jinx want to puke. The man turned around, gave her a weird look and wiped his hands on his apron as he approached with a smug half-smirk.

"Hey, toots." He placed both hands on the counter in front of her with a creepy grin. "What can we do for 'ya?" She hesitated to respond at first, but it was only for a moment. Her eyes moved from his thick arms covered in ginger hair to his face; ah, there was that weird expression again.

"…Can I borrow a pot? A small one, maybe." She muttered. Zack leaned on the counter and the stench of sweat and raw meat whipped her across the face. "I'll bring it back, promise." She tried to look anywhere but his face and her eyes landed on the counter beneath him, where kitchen appliances were spread out beside a half-empty jar of tips and a set of keys, one of which looked like a spare and had a little leopard-printed pom-pom attached to its key-chain. It drew her attention because it didn't seem like something Zachary would have on his counter. He was a brute. Considering the leopard-print, it might have belonged to his sister, Lila.

"Oh, you better do. 'Cause I don't like people stealing from me." He warned with a smile. Jinx felt another chilly breeze run past her exposed arms and shivered visibly.

"I don't want to steal it. My friend's making lollies. I'll bring one over."

"I see a loli right in front of me, love." He snickered. Ugh, such a disgusting old man. But she needed his help at that moment.

"Jee, thanks. Not looking my best after last night, I know." She huffed, then elevated herself a bit more to bend on the counter. They were close now, she could smell his awful stench even more. But admittedly she probably smelled weird herself. Zack's eyes travelled from her face to the fold of May's oversized t-shirt above her small chest. At the mention of last night he let out a loud chuckle and pushed himself away from the counter to go look for a pot in the back.

"Last night, eh? They should've known not to trust that idiot with keeping a girl alive. He's only good for destroying things." Zack mused. Metallic kettles crashed on each other. Jinx leaned further on the counter, her belly pressing against hard wood. Her head fell a bit to the side at his words and messy blue strands draped on the counter.

"…He caught the knife."

"Caught the knife my ass." Came the muffled response, Zack's head buried in a cabinet under the counter with a bunch of kitchenware stacked up on each other. "He's crazy enough t'a stop that wheel on purpose." He sighed, then resurfaced from the cabinet with a small sized black metal pot in hand. "But you know what they say, there ain't nothing like a mother's love. That's why my sister keeps him 'round. She's a good woman." He nodded, as if to confirm his own words and placed the pot between Jinx's hands as they were holding onto the counter to keep her on it. She seemed thoughtful for a moment. "He's lucky." That smile on his face...it was odd; like he knew more than he was letting on.

A _good woman_? What kind of good woman leaves bruises on her kid? And how dare Zachary of all people talk? Pot calling the kettle black.

Her eye fell on the pot between her hands and she had to swallow a chuckle.

"Is his hand okay?" She asked with a drowsy half-smile. Zachary's shoulders flew up in a shrug.

"Beats me. Anything else y'need, sugar?" That weird expression was back. She observed his eyes travel down to her cleavage and let out a small sigh before sliding off the counter, pot in hands. She landed on her worn-out shoes with a small thud.

"I'll bring it back in a bit, thank you."

She could have asked for something to eat too, but she wasn't sure if she was carrying any money and one favor was already much to ask from the man. Thus, she turned around on heel, heading for May and hoping that a lollipop would be enough calories to keep her on her feet until she could lay hands on a solid meal.

The bright red cage caught her eye on the way home. Sheeba was making rounds inside, seemingly agitated. Snakes weren't very expressive animals, but they usually sat somewhere quietly. And Sheeba looked restless. She couldn't help but approach cautiously and take a moment to watch the snake move.

"Stick your finger in! It don't bite!" Two men sitting on fold-up chairs behind her cracked up after yelling the tease. One of them was smoking a large cigar, dusting black ash onto the wet dirt below. Jinx turned around to throw them a glance, then returned her gaze to the animal. Zachary's words had done nothing but annoy her –perhaps even irritate her to an extent. She figured she at least owed the boy a visit after last night. And thus her hand found its way to the trailer's door and knocked thrice.

No response.

She waited for a bit and knocked again. There was no response, so she tried to pull the handle down, only to discover the door was locked.

"She's out 'partyin'." One of the men behind her called out. Jinx's head snapped around to meet them again, vision blurring out from the sudden movement.

"What about her son?"

"The ginger kid?" The man dusted his cigar again, holding it between thick hairy fingers. Jinx's thin brow twitched lightly.

"Yes."

"Oh, we ain't seen that one in some time." He laughed. The girl's brows furrowed in concern. She nodded and turned around to be on her way.

The road wasn't long, but it didn't take long for her mind to start entertaining odd thoughts anyway. Zack's smile and the way he'd said ' _He's lucky..._ ' about his nephew...The way those men laughed she mentioned Jerome...All that compiled with the fact he'd just endured major injury -she had no idea how deep the cut on his palm had been- seemed suspicious to her. If something bad had happened to Jerome, she couldn't help but feel a bit responsible; after all he caught that knife to save her leg, didn't he? Zack thought otherwise, but who would trust some scumbag cook who hit on teen girls? His sly smirk alone discredited all claims in Jinx's mind. Halfway to her trailer, she halted and turned around sharply. The temperature had not risen a degree, but she somehow felt less cold now.

Her strut back to Zachary's stand had a spark to it, nothing like the zombie-walk she'd pulled off earlier. The black pot was still in her right hand and she used the left one to lift herself up on the counter again.

"Mister Zack!" There was some more life to her voice now. The man turned around and threw her a puzzled glare before approaching.

"Back so soon? Or did 'ya just miss me?" He grinned. The girl bit her lower lip into a smirk and held the pot up.

"My friend says this one's too small for the job. Do you maybe have a bigger one?"

Zack let out a loud 'Ha!' in response and grabbed the pot from her hand with a cheeky smirk. He headed back towards the cabinet where he'd looked for a pot before. Jinx's eyes fell on the keychains still lying on the counter, right where she'd spotted them before.

_Thud, thud..._

Her heart raced.

Her free hand reached out slowly, sneaking over the stand's counter to reach for the key-chain with a pom-pom attached to it. Her eyes were fixed on the man's back. Keeping her hand steady on its way every time he moved suspiciously much, hinting he may get up and turn around, was near-impossible.

_Keep your cool, Harl. Move quick. Stay calm._

She felt the soft pom-pom in her grip. As she lifted it, the keychain rattled. Her blood froze.

But, for once, luck was on her side. Just as the keys made an alarming noise, a few pots collapsed right next to Zachary's ear and covered it up. Jinx had to hold back tears of relief as she quickly stuffed the keychain in the front pocket of her jeans. Just one second later and Zack would have noticed, but all he saw was a skinny girl trying to stay up on his counter and not slide off. He returned to her with a slightly bigger pot and handed it over.

"Better tell your friend to save us some of those **lollipops** too, won't 'ya?" Zachary's hand reached out to pinch her chin.

She responded with a smile and a wink, then slid off of the counter and landed on her feet.


	9. Third time's the charm

 

 

 

**Hands up, feel okay**

**Whose heart could I break today?**

**Two time, stay friends**

**Problem that you can't defend**

**-'Two time', Jack Stauber**

* * *

On cloudy Wednesday mornings like this, Detective Harvey Bullock took to enjoying his usual cup of plain black french coffee on his desk, usually surrounded by paperwork that was long overdue. He had his way with words and could coax most cops in the department and burden them with his paperwork-James Gordon being a bright exception to that rule. But even the latter could sometimes be bargained with when it came to dumping paperwork, because Harvey's mountain of papers due was growing taller by the day and threatening Jim's office with its imminent collapse.

Of course some colleagues had seen through to Harvey's scheme and, undeterred by the threat of Mount Due Reports, started dumping files that weren't even in Bullock's jurisdiction. It was done in secrecy, discreetly and probably when Harvey was out, because every morning of the last week he'd been returning to reports of closed cases that had yet to be filed or missing people's report folders. This time it was a bunch of reports for cases of people missing for over two months.

"How many times have I told you people not to pile those damn papers on my desk!? They're gonna fall over one day." He sounds defeated. It happens on a daily basis now and Harvey's patience is running thin. Okay, not really running thin. He has a lot of patience, but he'll still take the chance to whine about it.

With a loud huff he picks up the pile and heads over to Alvarez's. Alerts for missing people isn't Alvarez's jurisdiction, but Harvey has to dump it somewhere and that's usually the man for the job. Thus the report folders are dumped intact on Alvarez's office.

The top one catches Bullock's eye, if only for a moment. It accidentally flips to the front page. The picture pinned on the case report depicts a young girl with a clean face. Despite the brand clothing and glossy display, she looks distraught. Harvey reaches out to touch the paper's tip as he reads the name and summary;

**Quinzel, Harleen**

CSN: 007896056

Sex: Female

Height / Weight: 5'47'' / 127,8 lbs

Hair / Eyes: Brown / Green

Summary:

Last seen on the 10th of April, last spring. Parents reported the subject missing at 3:43am. No traces of forced entry. The room to her window was open. Family belongings of value, jewels and money were missing. No credit cards were stolen. A few of her clothes were missing. All evidence points to the subject willingly (?) leaving her room around midnight of the same night.

A few notes were pinned; newspaper excerpts where the Quinzels were handing out money as reward for whoever had information on their only-daughter. Judging from the girl's clothes in the picture, they must have been well-off.

It was a bit depressing to think about; a young girl, at the prime of her youth, running away from a home that seemed to have everything. Harvey had enough experiences to know that money doesn't bring happiness. And it did touch him to think that this poor creature might have had to survive out there on her own, a kid that probably never had to fight for anything before. Naivety was a big disadvantage in the streets.

He held onto a puzzled expression for a moment or two, then closed the folder again and pushed the stack towards Alvarez, who gave him the usual eye-roll.

* * *

_'We could leave the lights on….sun tan…'_

I barged in on May dancing by herself to the radio. She was humming the lyrics quietly, aware of how off-tune her voice was. She looked very carefree, having pushed the table aside to make space for her moves. The chopped up q-tips and candy were waiting on the table, resealable plastic bags filled with hard candy and a hammer sitting right beside them. When she finally noticed me standing like a ghost in the doorway she snapped around and placed a hand on her chest.

_'I think that I like you…But something bugs me about the way you lick your envelope so…'_

"Dude. You've been hanging around creeps too much."

I couldn't help the eye-roll this time and quickly placed the pot on our kitchen counter. Well, if you could call that narrow metal plank a counter anyway. Maybe I was spoiled, because I hadn't grown up in a trailer. Zachary's keys jingled in my other hand as I did. May's brow twitched, but she went back to dancing without much of a care.

_'Two times…stay friend, problem that you can't defend…'_

I grabbed my coat from the hanger beside our door; it looked worn-out but it was probably the only authentic leather piece in the entirety of our camp. Thankfully it didn't look as expensive now and I had no problem blending it whilst wearing it. With a final look to May I stepped down the entrance step and closed the door behind me.

My first few steps towards Lila's wagon were quivering with anxiety. I started doubting myself; what if Zachary found out, what if Lila was home when I broke in, what if their neighbors saw me break in? But then on the other hand I felt a strong pull; what if Jerome was in trouble, what if his mom locked him in there when she was gone, what if he had no one to tend to his injured hand and was slowly bleeding out in there? That last thought kicked some life back to my step. But it didn't last long as a second wave of doubt hit me, now mixed with fear; what if I got in serious trouble because of it, what if I got kicked out because of it, what if I open that door and find Jerome's corpse in there, cold and motionless just as Dave's had been?

Halt.

Maybe I should remember my own rule and stop sticking my nose in other people's business . But the still of Jerome catching that knife –in midair too!- flashed in my mind just as I thought about giving up. I just had to repay the favor by making sure he was okay. That thought got me walking again, along with a craving for the adrenaline rush.

Zachary was wrong about the catch. He just slandered Jerome because he was a loveless brute. Besides, it had happened within seconds and the only way to manage an impressive catch like that would be to react on sharp reflex –he must have very good reflexes- and instinct. And that meant his first instinct had been to protect me. Perhaps he'd have done the same for anyone in my place, but…it did feel nice to know it was me.

Upon reaching the trailer, I slowed down. The bright red of Sheeba's cage was the first thing that greeted me. The snake seemed considerably calmer now. I glanced around to see if those men from before were still here, but I was lucky to be by myself. I attempted to tip-toe my way to the door, but moist soil mixed with crunchy decaying leaves and leather boots weren't a good mix. It didn't occur to me that I'd leave tracks, at first, and by the time I'd realized that I had already left a trail behind. Oh well. It'd just be in and out fast.

Before pulling out the keys, I decided to try the usual way once more and knocked. Part of me wanted someone to answer, but if I wanted to be honest with myself I was secretly hoping no one would. And my wish came true.

I slid the stolen spare in the keyhole and rotated it slowly, my other hand holding the handle. My boot left a footprint on the front step –they had no mat to wipe muddy shoes on- and I did catch it with the corner of my vision. But my hand had already pushed the door open and the wagon's inside was revealed to me just as a funky smell hit my nose.

It wasn't a secret that Lila beat the life out of her son on the daily. No one cared to do anything about it, though. I was probably an idiot to get myself tangled in their family business in the first place. But, whether I regretted it or not, I was in the trailer now and the stench of smoke was the first thing that hit my nostrils. Everything made of fabric in that place had absorbed so much cigarette smoke that it emitted a god-awful odor. There were dirty plates on the table and glasses that doubled as ash trays. A murky liquid rested at the bottom of a small metallic kitchen sink and a variety of stains decorated the counter next to it. This small kitchen was the main room and besides the smell and the sink situation it looked relatively clean.

My first step forward, however, was already interrupted as I stumbled on some small obstacle on the floor. From the sound of it, I realized it was probably remnants of a glass bottle. I quickly checked my foot to make sure the glass hadn't pierced through my shoes or something. The last thing I needed now was to leave a blood trail wherever I step.

And speaking of blood trails, I noticed two dark lines leading up to the next room. It was a makeshift bedroom, a bunk bed on one side and a plain mattress on the other. I had no idea why they'd need three beds in there, but I approached regardless and followed the trail to the bottom bed. My eyes traced the line up the mattress. It resembled a brush stroke of dark red pain. And it led to a big, dark pool in the middle of the mattress.

I had to cup a gasp in my mouth. The smell of blood returned to my nostrils, along with a flash of Dave's still body on his bed… I could feel my own nails digging into my cheek and loosened my grip.

Poor Jerome. No one must have bothered to help him patch up the injury. It had bled through all over the place. But, was it possible that this took place not too long ago? I neared the bed, as quietly as I could and reached out to touch the stain. It left a tint of red on the tips of my fingers. Ugh, disgusting. I quickly wiped it back on the sheets.

Apart from the beds and a few clothes scattered here and there –pending laundry, judging from the stench- there wasn't much more evidence. The stain hadn't dried, though, and judging from the way it was smeared on the bed, it looked more as if he climbed in there whilst bleeding, rather than was dragged out of it. I couldn't be sure.

Guilty confession: I was a bit disappointed that nothing more interesting was going on in their trailer. I had devised an entire plan of escape and it was completely pointless now.

Knowing that I was on short time, I stepped backwards out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen. They did have a fridge, probably better equipped than the one at our trailer. The thought of food had my stomach grumble again. I found myself hovering in front of the fridge, unable to make the call.

"..Fuck it, they won't know." I mumbled. My hand wrapped around the cold metal handle and pulled the door open with ease –it had a little bit of resistance at first, probably the rubber surface that sealed the frost in. They didn't have much, but there was some cheese that looked like it would taste a bit sour, but bearably so. I reached into the refrigerator and noticed the tiny hairs on my arms shooting up at the temperature change. The cheese felt a bit too hard on my hand and I struggled to chop a little bit from the tip off, then shove it in my mouth and close the door behind me.

Yeah, it did taste sour. It was nowhere near a breakfast that would satiate me at that moment, too. But snatching it did give me a little bit of a rush. It felt…liberating.

"Pth, imagine they find out someone broke in here just to steal their cheese." I mumbled, then let out a quiet chuckle. It wasn't as if anyone could hear me anyway. In here I could say whatever I want and still know I'd gotten away with it. I could even take the entire cheese if I wanted to. Ah, maybe they'd notice that. Let's not get careless. I was about to turn around and leave when the hairs on the back of my neck stood up;

"Bah, you jinxed it."

Jerome's shadow was cast over me as he blocked the way out. And this was the moment I knew, I'd fucked up. The way he stood in front of the doorway with his back slightly hunched and a penetrating stare fixed on me, I could almost hear a menacing church organ in the background. It felt like some stereotypical 'enter the villain' movie moment.

"I'm-…I…" Instinctively, I backed off and bumped my back against the fridge. Damn those wagons for being so tiny. Jerome didn't look angry though. If anything, he seemed a bit amused. My eyes fell on his hand. It was bandaged up nicely now, with just his fingers exposed. The scratches on them had been sealed quickly with a bunch of bandaids. Lacking the proper words, I ended up laughing nervously if only to fill the silence between us. Jerome's lips were pulled back into a smile that quickly shifted to a curious expression as he nodded towards the keys in my grip and asked;

"Is this Unc' Zack's spare?" He sounded calm, as if it were a simple question. I could feel my face burning, frozen there with my back pressed against the wall, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

"Um…yeah? I just…I'll put it back, promise."

"Hm." He shrugs in a carefree manner, as if I didn't just confess to stealing his Uncle's keys. "Sure you will." He's cool, calm but in a cold manner. However it's enough to snap me back to reality where I'm someone who literally just broke in his house. I'm overwhelmed by a need to apologize.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to check on you!" Here's to me hoping I sound genuine, because I do mean it. Even if the promise of adventure lured me here, the main goal was to make sure he was okay...I think. "I didn't get a chance to…you know, say thanks yesterday."

"Check?" His voice comes out a bit higher in pitch and cracks slightly as he wonders out loud. I could swear I heard some emotion there, but he still looked thoughtful, if anything. I catch myself staring at his mouth, hanging onto the next word. "Huh."

"Are you mad?" He pretty much left me with no option but to ask, since his expression was impossible to read. He took his sweet time responding and left me hanging, my heartbeat resonating louder than an orchestra of drums in my head.

Finally, his shoulders rolled back and he let out a deep sigh. "Ah. Look, I'll be honest-" He looked away for a bit, pressing his lips together for a moment, then returned to me with a tired gaze. "It's a bit impressing that you stole from Unc' Zack. _Buuuuut_ if he finds out…" A dramatic pause; though, just from his glare, I can tell he's not over-exaggerating. "...you've put me in a _lot_ of trouble, pumpkin-pie."

My hands fly up in front of my chest in defense and I shake my head to reaffirm my own statement; "He won't. Promise. A-and if he does I'll take the blame." Jerome doesn't look convinced. I can't tell if he's disappointed or confused, maybe both. After a few moments of him just standing there and eyeballing me -and me shrinking against the fridge in submission- he makes a big, sudden step towards me, closing the distance between us. Granted, I'm completely cornered there and we're close enough for things to get awkward; as if they weren't already. My sight lands on his wounded hand that's hanging idly by his hip. He leans in, craning his neck to invade my personal space even further. The gesture itself wasn't threatening, but his ice-cold glare made it so.

If I wasn't shit scared and drowning in guilt, I might have reacted a bit differently, but for now I just lowered my head and braced myself for whatever was to come.

"You know, next time y' wanna break into someone's home..." His healthy hand points to the floor and my pupils follow the tip of his finger. "Better make sure to take your shoes off."

Ah, fuck. The entire floor is covered in mud-prints from my boots. As if breaking in here wasn't rude enough already. I raise my head to face him, my hands standing in between his chest and mine as he closes in even further. I must have had the most pathetic begging expression at that point and I could feel the sting of my eyes starting to water.

"I-I'll clean it u-"

"A-ta-ta-ta-ta." He interrupted then grabbed both my wrists, pinning my hands against my own chest. Zachary's keychain was still clenched in one of them. Despite the tension I still couldn't help but glance at his injured hand and wonder just how painful holding things might be for him right now. We stood there for what felt like eternity, with Jerome wearing the creepiest smile I'd ever witnessed and me anticipating the outburst. Then he just jerked his hand and snatched the keys out of my grip in an instant. A joyful laugh followed. "You don't look like housewife material. You'll probs end up smearing mud all over."

I couldn't tell if it was a tease or an insult, but I laughed nervously anyway. He stepped to the side, allowing me to finally head for the door. Despite his menacing demeanor, however, the release of pressure brought an odd feeling of relief that made me think I'd be okay even if I chose to stay. Jerome's posture, though, was almost shoving me back. I stepped to the side and he took a step forward towards me, basically kicking me out just with body language. He was still smiling, though.

"There's this movie downtown. Black and white one." I took a step backwards, nearing the door.

"Black and white? Vintage ones?" My hand wrapped around the handle and opened it, even though I never took my eyes off of him as he followed me on my way out.

"Y'look like the kind'a chick who'd be into those." Where did he get that from? I feel like the confusion seeped through to my expression a bit, because he chuckled right after his own comment. I wasn't sure if this was the time to ask though. My eyes hovered over the mud-prints and Jerome's bandaged hand one last time. Then I looked up to him before taking the step down the entrance and responded;

"I don't…well, it's been a while since I watched a movie. It sounds fun."

 


	10. Enter: The villain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning; spoilers for the movie 'The man who laughs'.

**Now the snow was falling heavy,**  
**It was cold, I wasn't ready**  
**To allow you into the sunlight,**  
**it would blind you and then you might**  
**Take a chance and try and leave me,**  
**Make me be the wreck that I'd be without you  
\- 'The great unknown', The Black Bull  
**

* * *

A date is supposed to be sealed with a time and place to meet. And since they never agreed on a time or place to meet-up, it couldn't be a date, right? He hadn't mentioned which movie theater he'd been talking about, or even the movie's name. And he definitely hadn't said anything about time, either.

Thus Jinx decided to return home and wash up, then wait for a while. If he didn't show up, she'd just call it a night. Angie brought sandwiches from the 'dog stand and May finished the lollipops she'd been DIY-ing and returned the pot herself. They joined each other in the main room of their wagon –which doubled as both a kitchen and a bedroom…and a living room, for the most part- and threw a marvelous feast. Well, at least it was marvelous for their standards, which were as low as plain bread and salt sometimes. May and Angie were dancers, both dropouts of a ballet academy, and they didn't mind the fasting. Jinx had already been slim before joining the circus, but during her months here she'd become all skin and bone. It wasn't pleasant, or related to a personal goal, but a matter of circumstance. If it was up to her, she'd go to bed on a full stomach every night.

Sandwiches would have to suffice for tonight, however. Angie was feeling chatty during dinner and barely even touched hers, while May was taking small bites and nodding as her friend narrated some story about the seamstress. Jinx stuffed her face and choked on the occasional reaction to Angie's story.

"I've been to her before and she's usually kinda grumpy, but today she's all beaming and stuff so, like, I go in and I'm like 'hi, excuse me, can I speak to Mrs. Wang' and this tall dude comes out from behind the counter, he looks about 25-30, and he's real nice to me and calls her for me. Mrs. Wang walks into the room like…fucking beaming!" She laughed. May snorted while taking her time to chew one of the tiny bites she'd snip. "Like…girl. We can see you've been getting some, you know?" Angie snickered.

"Dude, stop, Mrs. Wang is like …60 or something." May's upper lip twitched into a disgusted expression, while Jinx swallowed a big bite –in fact it was so loaded that the gulp was clearly audible. May clicked her tongue in response.

"More like 69." Jinx chuckled. Angie cracked up into her usual, high-pitched obnoxious laughter. It sounded like she was struggling to breathe and/or faking it. May threw some wrapping at Jinx with a huff and the latter stuck her nose out in response. She was about to take another big bite when three knocks on the door froze her mouth in position, a drop of thick saliva forming on the tip of her lips.

May furrowed her brows and got up first to head for the door. Angie turned around to see. And Jinx felt her heart in her throat, for some reason she couldn't explain to herself.

"Would you look at that." May frowned. It was met with a flash of a wide grin from Jerome outside the door.

"Hi." The voice gave Jinx an amount of heart-racing that definitely wasn't just from eating too fast. She leaned forward to peer beside May who was blocking the entrance. "I'm looking foooor…" Jerome's finger pointed inside the room, moved around a little bit as if he was looking for something, then froze on Jinx. May turned around to follow his pointing and saw her roommate wearing the stupidest grin she'd ever witnessed.

"…Oh god." She glared at Jinx, shaking her head in disbelief. "Seriously dude?"

Jinx returned it with a laugh, seemingly not phased by May's reaction and placed the unfinished sandwich back on the table. She nearly jumped out of her seat and stumbled a bit on her way to the coat-hanger nailed behind the trailer's door. May was watching in discontent, while Angie let out a quiet 'aw' and formed a heart shape with her hands. It's not like anyone noticed. Jerome was busy snickering with May's reaction and Jinx was busy shoving her aside to get out of the wagon.

"You'd better return solo, mi amiga." May threatened. "He's not spending the night in my place."

Jerome was cackling by himself all while Jinx barely nodded and then shut the door in May's face. Fortunately she had keys in her coat's pocket, or she'd probably have to find a bench to spend the night on after that.

"Jee, sorry about that." She said, quickly tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "She's not a people person." A nervous giggle.

"Same." Jerome shrugged non-nonchalantly. "But, oh-" He spun around on the heel of his shoes, before performing a sophisticated bow. His injured hand folded over his chest and extended towards her, inviting her to an arm in arm. "I believe we have a movie to catch, m'lady." One brow shot up as he put on a deep voice. "And we have to hurry. I'm afraid I accidentally fired the chauffeur."

She shook her head and snickered, but accepted the invite and wrapped her own arm around his elbow. "How can you 'accidentally' fire someone?"

"You," he pauses to lean in a bit as he pronounces the word in a heavy accent; " _accidentally_ , strike a match."

"Oh my, how morbid!" She gasps, but it's an obviously amused gasp, followed by giggles. Jerome's humor isn't the easiest thing to get used to, but it had its own charm, in an unusual way. He smiles as they set off towards the circus entrance.

As per usual, the second they set foot outside the circus, Jerome's face was beaming. She'd observed the change take place without him noticing; Haly's seemed to drain the life out of him. It was like two different people; circus Jerome was much more reserved and awkward and outside Jerome was boisterous and energetic. His entire posture and aura would shift accordingly and the change was welcomed by his company that night. There was a little bit of a hop in his step and she joined him in the prance. Despite being hungry a few minutes ago, she felt full right now. There was this odd bubbly feeling in her stomach. A thought crossed her mind; could this be...butterflies?

After exiting the camp they headed for Old Gotham through the downtown alley system, avoiding big and crowded streets. It wasn't the wisest choice, given that it was evening and they were just two teenagers -one of them having sticks for legs. But it was Jerome's choice and he seemed very adamant on leading the way. Not knowing any better, Jinx followed blindly, but stayed alert and rather tense for most of the way.

Their walk there was mostly silent except for a few memorable moments. She was the first to break the silence, quietly asking a nervous "Did you place the keys back on the counter?" to which Jerome merely responded to with a nod. He seemed thoughtful, and would occasionally steal glimpses of her mouth. It looked like something was tickling his lips, but he couldn't blurt it out. He'd fiddle with his hands impatiently, and flashed a grin towards her a few times; though it looked more like him showing his teeth to her than an actual smile. It gave off a vibe as if he was expecting something in return too, but she would just shrug in confusion

_This is exhausting. She isn't getting the message. Ah, he can't take it anymore, he just has to ask now._

"So, what's up with the teeth."

"What teeth?"

"Your teeth."

An awkward pause,at least for her. Jerome's expression has a demanding vibe about it. She slows down on her pace a little bit. "That's….I'm not sure what you're talking about." He huffs in exasperation.

"You hide your teeth." He states in a matter-of-factly way. "Why?"

"..Wait, how do you..." She seemed confused for a moment and like she was debating the answer in her head. Jerome started at her, nodding impatiently. "Um, they're crooked. Or at least, I don't know, my mom always said they're crooked. I was going to wear braces, but..." She trailed off, but Jerome's nodding pressured her to continue. "...well, I ran away."

"Ah." That…was the most boring explanation he could have hoped for. He couldn't help but yawn halfway through her words. A bit disappointing, he'd expected something more than typical teenage insecurities. She walked close-by, keeping up with his pace, but he didn't spare another glance and missed the confusion in her expression.

Eventually the movie theater towered ahead of them. It was a small building, compared to the rest, but still enormous compared to them. It had a characteristic boxy shape, with a screen on the front displaying the latest screening titles. Bright letters would swipe from right to left, spelling out 'VICTOR HUGO'S - THE MAN WHO LAUGHS - 21 : 15 PM'. Jinx's brows shot up. The title was pretty ominous, though she couldn't put a finger on the content but recognized the writer's name. It must have been a movie adaptation of a book during the early days of cinema. Jerome suddenly gave her a push to the side, signaling that they'd turn around instead of heading right for the front entrance.

"What are you-"

"Shush, shush." He whispered, then grabbed her arm with his good one and pulled her along to some alley beside the movie theater. Jinx's trust in him faltered when she saw the dark alleyway ahead of them; hell, no sane person would be dragging a girl in there, right?

"Jerome! Have you lost it? What-" She put up some resistance, but his pull grew stronger. Watching his grip around her skinny arm, it felt like he could snap her bone in two like a chicken leg if he wanted to. That thought drained all color from her face and allowed herself to get dragged along freely now.

There was a fire-escape stairway in the alley. It was narrow, surrounded by overflowing trashcans, some of which were stuffed with creased buckets of pop corn. Jerome's grip loosened a bit and he finally let go to head for the stairway. Jinx felt the spot he'd grabbed on her own arm, wondering if she'd wake up with a bruise tomorrow. But as pathetic as it may sound, she felt relieved that nothing worse had happened. Despite being blatantly naive in comparison to most circus girls -they hadn't grown up in an estate with overprotective parents- being dragged into a shady alley had triggered her fight of flight reflex. That same rush of adrenaline, however, was what kept her from running off as Jerome grabbed onto the ladder and started climbing. He paused on the third step and turned around with a perplexed expression.

"Well? Aren't 'ya coming?"

She squinted, folding both hands over her chest with a head shake.

"You know most boys would treat a girl to a ticket." She commented dryly. It earned a high-pitched cackle from him.

"Ha! Give a man a fish and you'll feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish-" Craning his head back, he gestured towards the fire-escape with a devious smirk; "-and you feed him for a lifetime."

He made a good point, albeit the fact sneaking into a movie theater wasn't a guarantee way to get in. They could get caught. Knowing that brought up an intense anxiety that, judging from the way he rushed up those stairs, Jerome didn't seem to share. It was almost like it didn't even cross his mind that he could get caught and face consequences. His confidence provided her with the reassurance she needed to climb up that first step...and then another, and another, and finally she had to hurry up the stairs or she'd lose Jerome from her sight.

The theater's roof had a little storage room with a huge yellow sign that read 'ENTRANCE IS PROHIBITED - STAFF ONLY'. Jerome pushed the heavy doorhandle down and held the door open for her. She snuck in hurriedly, waiting for him right on the other side. Despite wanting to talk and warn him of what a horrible idea this could turn out to be, the fear of getting caught prevailed and she stayed quiet. Jerome casually opened a door within the dark storage room and the white light of a dimly illuminated stairway down blinded her for a moment.

They headed down the stairs, Jinx constantly stumbling forward to be as close to his back as she possibly could. It was a quiet hallway with grey walls, clearly the part of the theater utilized only by staff as it was plain and looked miserable. Jerome nearly pranced to the next door. Upon opening this one Jinx's skin was embraced by a sweet warm and the smell of buttered pop-corn filled both their nostrils. A red rug laced the hallway ahead of them and shiny posters behind glass decorated the walls. She was about to step out, magnetized by the bright lights and buzz of this place, but a hand pressed on her stomach and Jerome pushed her behind him before popping his head out the hallway. Ticket collectors stood behind them, ripping out the tickets of some couple and letting them through the bars. This red-painted door they were about to step out of was within the collectors' field of vision, so their exit had to be timed. Jerome waited for the couple to pass in front of the door and then jumped out and forcefully tugged Jinx along with him.

"Ouch!" She growled right after they were outside. It was a bit on the quiet side, a whisper-yell of sorts, because she was still scared that whatever his plan was it might not work. But from that point on no one would check their tickets. They only had to sneak into the right room and find some free seats -those were usually in the back.

"No pain, no gain." Jerome cackled, then gestured towards the entrance ahead of them. They sat side by side at the second row from the room's top, pretty far from the center, where the best seats were. The lights eventually went off, signaling that the film was about to start. People's murmur hushed and Jinx felt a light chill knowing that she was in a completely dark room full of strangers. Soon, however, the big white screen in front of them was illuminated as a projector shot the title screen over it.

**'THE MAN WHO LAUGHS'**

by Victor Hugo

It was a bit boring at first. The movie was silent, no dialogue, and that was a bit hard to get into initially. She hadn't watched movies like these very often in the past. But she quickly found herself taking interest in the variety of expressions and the ways in which the actors attempted to convey certain emotions. The plot was quite thick for a movie that old and she found herself getting carried away eventually. The visual effects were also amazing; Gwynplain's disfigured grin earned a gasp from the audience and the film could easily pass as a horror one just because of the protagonist. Entranced by the peculiar, dark aesthetic, she hadn't noticed how Jerome's eyelids had been drooping five minutes into the film. She only took notice of the fact he'd dozed off when his head tilted a bit to the side. The movement caught her eye and she turned around to find him fast asleep in his seat beside her.

She watched him sleep for a moment. His skin, despite all the little dents and bruise leftovers, glistened like porcelain in the theater's grim light. She had to admit he wasn't conventionally attractive, but he had a boyish charm about him; something in his features reminded her of a boisterous leprechaun. The ginger hair didn't help it. Her lips curled into a smile at the thought of Jerome in a green leprechaun costume.

But that smile faded quickly when she noticed the marks peeking from the rim of his checkered shirt. She found herself wondering just how far down these marks ran, if they were swollen or in need of medical attention. Had he ever had his wounds treated before? If she unbuttoned his shirt…would she be introduced to some horridly disfigured image?

Slipping out of her coat, she shifted a bit in her seat and gently placed it on him like a blanket. He swallowed and shifted a bit to his side. She took that as an opportunity to lean a bit closer. When a bright screen came on, you could see all the little details of his face, his light red eyelashes, the discreet highlights in his hair…but when a darker screen played the light would dim and details would blur into a dark shadow. Her hand slithered around his own, feeling for the warm bandages and gently resting on top of them. His head eventually fell to the side and landed on her bony shoulder –not the most comfortable pillow, but it didn't seem to bother him. She leaned her head against his, faded blue hair blending into red, and her eyes returned to the screen.

Gwynplain had reached the docks by now, escaping from Queen Anne's guards, on his way to meet Dea and Ursus. As Gwynplain approached, hiding his disfigurement as usual, Dea's hands found the cloth covering his mouth. She gently tugged the mask off and revealed the horrific grin, then touched it gracefully. Gwynplain's expression was one of horror. But soon, the look on his lover's face softened and she touched his curse with a gentle hand; a touch of acceptance.

Despite having little to no dialogue whatsoever, the expression on the actor's faces alone conveyed a powerful emotion, one that resonated within her soul. Her eye fell to Jerome's bandaged hand, peeking a bit beneath her coat as it was draped over his chest. A warm liquid ran down her cheek and she was quick to sniffle and wipe it on the back of her hand just as the audience started to cheer and clap, credits falling on screen. The fuss resulted in Jerome slowly lifting his head, yawning and taking his sweet time to stretch and pop his neck. She watched him wake up and shook her head whilst laughing.

"Morning sleeping beauty." She snorted. "Why would you suggest going to the movies just to sleep through it?" He seemed a bit drowsy still, blinked slowly and clicked his tongue before responding.

"What else could I be doing?" Another stretch, her coat started to slip off of him as he sat up and she reached out to retrieve it. "Two hours of cozy seats and free TV noise in the background? Sounds like a power-nap to me." He nodded in agreement with his own statement. She smiled warmly at that. But then that smile faded quickly when a thought crossed her mind.

"..Do you sleep well at home?" From the first few moments of hesitance, it became pretty clear that he didn't intend to respond. His brows suddenly furrowed as if he was curious about something and his head snapped around, nose scrunching up as he started to sniff the air audibly. "What are-" She was cut off when his pointer finger pressed against her lips.

"You smell that? That's…" He sniffed around again then bit his lower lip and went cross-eyed as if he was experiencing the greatest pleasure; "Corndogs." He nearly jumped off his seat. Getting the cue, she slipped into her coat and got on her feet as well.

"Yeah sure, let's get corndogs and avoid my questions." With a quiet huff she set off, gently bumping on a nearby seat on her way out. Jerome snickered behind her, then rushed a bit to get in front and lead the way again. They ended up outside the theater, where a colorful stand was selling cotton candy, pop-corn and corndogs. Jerome approached, staring at the 'dogs longingly. His eyes were shining and you could swear he'd start drooling any second. Jinx followed him and raised a brow. He didn't seem to be making any move to buy them though and by now she had reasons to suspect he was probably devising a plan to snatch one instead.

"Uh, can we get two of those, please?" She asked quietly. The man behind the stand took his time responding to her as he was busy texting on his phone. He handed the 'dogs and kept a hand extended, waiting for the money, but his eyes were fixed on the phone's screen as he typed something. She took a dollar out of her pocket and placed it on his hand. He didn't seem to notice or care that this was half the full price and went back to sitting down on his stool and texting without much of a care. She handed one 'dog over to Jerome who wasted no time stuffing it in his mouth.

She snickered. They started to walk the long walk home. At first there was just silence and Jerome's sloppy chewing in the background. But eventually he'd swallowed most of it and started talking again; "There was a time, when I used to dream every night. And I'm talking, good dreams, the kind you wake up from with a smile..." He smiled, little pieces of corndog stuck on his teeth. She took a bite of her own and snorted a laugh at the sight.

"One night I had a great one; I always wanted to become an artist, ya'kno'. And in my dream... I was...painting." His hands waved in front of him as if recreating a canvas, "And I used my favorite colors; white, black and a little touch of red." He smiled, then turned to face her and wiggled his eyebrows. "Abstract art. It depicted...a bird. A little, black and white magpie with a touch of red... To make it extra realistic, I added a few feathers, you know, from a real bird; a magpie. I just..." He popped the leftover corndog stick in his hands in two and started crushing it in his good hand, "-crushed them up in my hand and stuck them on the wet paint and then I stuck my masterpiece in a little cage for display-" He paused, his blue eyes fixed on some indefinite spot in the distance. The dim light granted them darker hues. "I'll never forget Jeremiah's face the next morning, when he saw the little thing all crinkled up at the bottom of its cage, just a little pile of bones and feathers-..." Another pause. The girl's expression shifted from a warm smile to one of shock. Her brows shot up as Jerome continued to talk, now mocking his brother's voice in a childish manner. "' _Mom, mom, Jerome strangled Mr. Feathers!_ '" He frowned, lip scrunching up and head hanging low. "Well, needless to say, neither of them seemed to appreciate my artistic merit." He growled. His anger seemed to dissipate instantly, though, and within seconds he was back to his prior state; "But, on the bright side, that's how I discovered that I sleepwalk."

Oh. Now _that_ was morbid. A bit too morbid, in fact. Despite the little hairs all over her body standing up, she tried to hold back on the reaction. She thought it might make him feel betrayed; he trusted her with such sensitive information. She tried to put her med-school years to good use, but theoretical knowledge wasn't useful when it came to the real thing. Her fists clenched momentarily, but she regained her composure just as Jerome casually snatched her corndog as she'd been holding it idly.

"...Well, it wasn't your fault. When we sleepwalk we aren't aware of our actions." She concluded, still a bit dazed from the information. Jerome cackled and took a big bite off of her corndog.

"Ha! Tell that to my mother." He spoke while chewing, little bits of corndog and spit dusting on the floor. "Every family has the good son and the bad son, y'kno'?"

"There's no bad sons." She cut him off sternly. "Or bad people. There's only good people in bad circumstances." Jerome snickered at that, but didn't seem willing to respond. He was busy nipping and sucking on every last bit of corndog. "Before I ran off," she begun, voice betraying the fact she was putting up a lot of effort to stay collected, "-I was in med-school. Well...I still am, technically. Anyway, there's this therapeutic method, hypnosis. It's a way to come in contact with a patient's subconscious. And it gives great results on patients who sleepwalk." Jerome merely blinked in response. He licked his lips and chewed noisily, then threw both sticks in his hands on the ground. She watched them fall and roll a bit to the side. He started to walk again, prompting her to follow.

"Dr. Jinx. Eh, sounds like the kinda doctor I'd trust with my noodle." He snickered, tapping the side of his head with a finger. She rolled her eyes with a scoff.

"Pth. Harleen. Harleen's my real name."

"Dr. Harleen?"

"Dr. Quinzel." She paused. Just uttering that brought a bitter taste in her mouth. She took a deep breath, as if that could somehow make the burden on her heart go away, and continued; "I don't go around telling people. My parents are loaded and knowing them there's probably a price on my head by now." A melancholic sigh. It was followed with a pause, then some devious cackling from Jerome.

"And-pth, hee, hee,- you told _me_?" He licked his lips, seeming genuinely amused. She raised a brow.

"Um, you won't... tell, will you?" She bit her lower lip. Jerome shrugged and lifted both his hands up as if he was holding two invisible objects on a scale.

"I dunno. On the one hand," he lifted his right hand, "we got a whooping 10 grand…and on the other…", he held the left one up as if he were expecting her to make her offer. She swallowed hard.

"…My…trust?" Her posture shrunk a bit, pursing her lips and squinting lightly. Jerome looked up at the sky with a thoughtful 'hum', then lifted his right hand.

"And the winner is…my new condo in the Bahamas!" It earned him a soft nudge on the side and she walked sideways to be looking at him the whole time.

"Noo! Stop, it's not funny!" She pouted.

"Yeah, it's hilarious."

"Promise you won't tell!" A hand reached out to grab his arm. It didn't slow him down, but he did turn around to face her and leaned a bit closer.

"I don't know, toots, what's in it for me?" A devious grin. She furrowed her brows plaintively.

"Jerome!"

"Can't deny I'm a blabbermouth, you just might have to shut me up." He shoved his face in her way, grin growing wider. It was an unnerving sight, but it didn't bother her. The close distance brought about some tension; he was inches away from her lips, hovering there as if he were waiting for something. Harleen's own lips parted for a second, hazel eyes fixed on his mouth. Suddenly, they snapped up to meet his gaze.

"Why did you say I look like the kind of chick that likes black and white movies?"

Jerome's head tilted ever so slightly, the grin slowly melting into a scoff. He squinted for a second, then turned his gaze to her lips.

"You just told me that you grew up loaded." He cackled. There was a condescending tone to his voice. She didn't seem to share the amusement.

"Come on, seriously." Despite maintaining the close contact, her response had a hint of sternness.

"Seriously?" His look grew a bit playful. But then he rolled his eyes and spun around on heel before craning his head back and stuffing both hands the pockets of his coat as he begun to walk again. "Aaah, a'ight. Well, you look like you're searching for that…special something." His hands formed an indefinite shape in front of his chest. He turned around and walked backwards to face her as he spoke. She followed with curiosity spelled all over her expression. "Drama, prestige…adventure? That too. Nostalgic for the days you haven't lived, wasting away in your golden cage, trapped in the flatness of our reality; thirsty for a mysterious," a sinister smirk, "-handsome young man whose name starts with J and ends with 'erome', blah blah blah."

He got a weak punch in the shins for that one. "Don't flatter yourself, hun."

Jerome bit his lower lip into a smile. His nose scrunched up slightly as he nudged her back and retorted; "I know a thrill-seeker when I see one."

The sassy response was immediate and sharp. "You must not see them very often then. 'Cause I'm no thrill-seeker." She paused, crossing both hands behind her back and strutting beside him in a pompous manner. "I just want my peace and quiet." Jerome clicked his tongue, turned around to be facing forward again and nodded sarcastically.

"A-ha. That's why you snuck into mom's place for no reason whatsoever."

"I told you I just wanted to check on you!" Came the justify, both hands flying up as if that would make her point more convincing. "Your Uncle wasn't letting me on if you were okay!"

"Soooo…you stole his keys. And my cheese." He paused, furrowed his brows and looked up, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Do you just go about stealing people's stuff?"

"I don't!" Another frantic gesture as she chased after him in big strides. "I mean..I did _but_ I wouldn't steal things I don't need, okay? And I return them when I can." The excuse was met with a chuckle.

"Jee, talk about a fine-tuned moral compass."

"Am I supposed to be proud that I stole stuff?" She folded both hands over her chest in a defensive stance. "I wouldn't have done it if I had a choice."

" _You_ chose to be here in the first place."

After that, Harleen's pace noticeably slowed down. Jerome kept his own, however, eventually leaving her a little bit behind. His shoulders hunched a bit, hands still buried deep in the pockets of his coat and he started to whistle. The random tune was interrupted by a high-pitched growl;

"You know what, _fine_!" He halted. She'd stopped a little bit further too. "I liked it. I got my kicks breaking into your place and it felt good to snatch the stupid keys right in front of fatty's face _. So what_?" She took a menacing step forward, arms flying up over her head again. A smile crawled onto Jerome's lips, but he didn't turn around yet. "I'm tired of people judging me for it, as if they don't think these things all the time! I just got the guts to put those thoughts in action!" Her heartbeat had sped up. Jerome spun around on heel, turning to face her with a smug grin.

"Ah! Noooow we're talking." He took a step closer, gesturing with his hands for her to go on. Harleen's own hands curled into fists.

"Everyone's worried about breaking laws and getting fired and saving money…And..I think it's pointless! I don't want a 9 to 5 job, I don't want a suit, I don't want summer vacation at my penthouse, I don't want to get stuck wasting away in an office, I sure as hell don't want kids and I hate the routine!" She was barking now, her voice stripped of the usual bittersweet hue. It sounded more obnoxious than anything. Jerome licked the side of his lips and nodded, heaving up and down as he approached her. His hands were extended in front of him, as if he was longing to grab something.

"Yes…" He growled longingly.

"So yeah, I _am_ a thrill-seeker, 'cause this world is… insufferably _boring_!" She stomped her foot down with a pout. Jerome's face looked like he'd just eaten the crunchiest snickerdoodle in his life; his fingers curled into fists and he shook them both in front of his chest while moaning out a loud;

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes!" He jumped around on the spot a few times, then punched the air above him; a little victory dance that bore an uncanny resemblance to monkeys. Harleen watched him in bewilderment, her face a bit red from the outburst. He stepped even closer now, his hands still curled in that odd position as if he was going to grab something any second now… And then suddenly he grabbed her by the waist, pulling her against his chest. Her one hand instinctively clutched onto his arm while the other jerked towards his chest, but he grabbed it midway and locked hands instead, forcing the both of them into the perfect position for a late night waltz in the middle of an empty street.

"Eep!" She exclaimed, but found herself short on breath due to the proximity.

"Fret not, my dear-" He was back on that extravagant accent, "-For I too suffer from a case of…" He shakes his head as he spits out the words; "incurable boredom." With that he attempts to spin her around, but it ends up in a clumsy mess of them both stumbling around for balance. Jerome continues, undeterred; "So we can either stay bored together…" His grin grows, if that's even possible at this point. Harleen has to struggle to catch her breath as his face hovers inches away from hers. "Or we can spice things up." A deep laugh emerges from the depths of his chest. She can feel it vibrating against hers. A quick doubt crosses her mind for a second; is it really a good idea to be entertaining such thoughts around Jerome?

His expression screamed danger, but in his eyes she saw the most enchanting promises. Her heart skipped a beat and it showed in her breathy voice as she responded,a bit dumbfounded still; "You mean...in Haly's?"

He rolled his eyes, grin faltering into a half-scowl for a moment and nodded left and right. "Uh-hah, sure, yeah, it's a start." His voice held a hint of sarcasm. "How does that one saying go-…Hhmm…" He took a step to the side as if he suddenly remembered that they were in position for a dance. "Many hands make fire work."

Her brows curled upwards and she breathed out a; "Light...light work." To which Jerome huffed, smiled and added;

"Light, fire...it's all the same." She nodded with an awestruck expression, then turned down to look at their feet. Jerome's eyes followed her head and he frowned. "Ah, I wasn't ever one for dances, my brother was always the one who had it in him. You know, a talent, a natural." He had a mocking tone, as if he was making fun of both his brother and the people who believed in him. Harleen's gaze snapped up to meet his at that.

"You want to set the circus on fire?" She took a step to the side, nearly stepping on his foot. Despite staring back into her eyes, he dodged the step, thus swaying both of them on the other side.

"No, I don't _want_ that. Want is a feeling, or an idea." His head leaned to the side a bit, face lowering as his gaze grew slightly more predatory. Harleen couldn't understand if she was listening to the ramblings of some maniac or a genius. His hold, however, had something incredibly alluring to it. The fact she could feel his bandaged hand against her, reminding her of the knife-catch, might have had something to do with the fact she was so willing to listen. "Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with feelings, after all...I'm a very-" He shook his head, a single strand of auburn falling from his slicked back fringe to hang in front of his face, " _very_ emotional guy." With that he took another step to the side, this time nearly stepping on her foot. Upon feeling the movement, however, she dodged his step and thus they started to waltz around clumsily. "But to want is to daydream. And I don't daydream. I ...have a vision."

"Your vision is to burn down Haly's?" She tilted her head to the side as Jerome took a step backwards, thus leading their little dance game towards home. His mouth hung open ever so slightly, as if he was focusing on his dance moves that were poor to say the least. "That's pointless."

"Is it?" He asked, tilting his head to the side. His stray hair swung back and forth as he bobbed his head to non-existent music. "Have you ever thought about what we do, in the circus?" Another spin was attempted, and this time Harleen saved it by reacting accordingly. It wasn't very graceful, because Jerome apparently lacked the tact to be gentle and was just pushing and pulling her instead. But it was fun. "We provide...entertainment."

At this point Harleen had already started to draw responses from the few training sessions she'd had during her med-school times, thinking about how to phrase things. But that made it all the more interesting to her. She didn't plan to help burning Haly's down, but she couldn't help but feel bad for Jerome at the same time; he must be so angry at the world to want something like that.

"And does running from a fire sound entertaining to you?" Her eye fell to his foot and she tried to step on him again. Jerome moved his leg away the last second and retorted with a promiscuous smirk. They were near the camp now. Faint noise could be heard from a distance.

"Oh, I won't be running. I'll be watching..." He let her hand go for a moment to wave his left and right; "...the others running." Then he grabbed hers again, as it had merely been left hanging idly by her side. "Who knows, maybe I'll have good company too." He winked. She shook her head in response, her grip tightening on his wounded hand. He didn't seem to mind. If anything, he looked amused. "We can roast marshmallows by the fire!"

"No, there's some good people in Haly's, too. Like Angie and May."

"Oh, screw them!" He pulled her a little closer, tighter against him. The night's chill was melted between their bodies touching. "Imagine if they knew about the Dr. Quinzel situation. You think they wouldn't hand you over for a couple of pennies?"

"No! They're...they're not like that!" She frowned and tried to step on him again.

"Why don't we tell them and see, then?" He dodged swiftly.

"...Look, I know you're angry but-" Another failed attempt.

"A-ah-ah! Not angry." He squeezed her tiny waist in his arm; "I'm _bored_." She felt the air squished out of her lungs for a second.

"Burning down Haly's won't solve any of your problems. It will just create more problems for other people." Jerome rolled his eyes with a loud groan, leaning away from her.

"Myyyy problems. You don't know anything about my problems." He took another step back, now nearing the circus entrance. She followed in one swift stride and a smile returned to her childlike features.

Accordion played in the distance, coming from somewhere among the circus tents. From a distance it wasn't very spectacular; two clumsy teenagers, stumbling left and right. It lacked finesse. Their clumsy steps resembled pushes more than a dance; well, they were pushes. It was more of a game of who will step on the other first. An attempted lead into a turn ended with Harl nearly falling over only to get a violent tug back into his arms. It was by no means 'smooth'. In fact, despite the giggles that followed, her hand was already burning sore.

"Okay, I'll buy. What are your problems, Jerome?"

They had a chance to see each other's faces up close and have a whiff of the unique smell of a lover's skin. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek, the scent of his skin -a blend of sweetness that resembled dried wildflowers and remnants of sweat. She could notice fine little details; a few scratches here and there, healed childhood wounds. His ghostly white complexion had many imperfections from up close. And yet…it must feel very smooth beneath her fingertips. She can't help but wonder-

"In exchange for what?"

A small thumb rolls over his chin. Soft white fabric wraps around it, his bandaged hand exerts a light pressure on her own. The clumsy waltz comes to a halt. They stare at each other; two odd creatures, black sheep. His head tilts to the side as it observes her expression with sincere curiosity. And hers mimics the motion for a completely different reason. She can nearly feel the soft tip of his lips brush against hers. As their breaths draw closer, her lids grow heavier, the lights blinker and-

_Clasp._

Jerome frowned, furrowing his brows in confusion. That was the last glimpse of his face she caught, before a heavy hand clasped onto his shoulder and they were pulled apart by force that almost knocked her over. A familiar stench filled her nostrils; sweat and raw meat. Thick hands wrapped around her waist and a warm, soft surface pressed against her back; ugh, skin. That was someone's belly. It didn't take long to find out whose.

"Sorry for ruining your little moment there, nephew." Harleen felt Zachary's voice box vibrate against the back of her neck as the heavy man leaned over her, his weight insufferable against her tiny frame. As if the close contact wasn't already unnerving, she felt his warm breath crawl down her neck and the little ginger hairs of his beard tickling the tip of her shoulder. "But I've been looking for this little minx all over."

After the initial shock of having a slimy old man sneak up behind you, Harleen's senses could focus on something other than figuring out who's standing behind her; the boy on the floor. Jerome tried to get up, but a huge foot stomped down on his chest and pinned him to the ground. It knocked all the air out of his lungs in a loud grunt. Hazel eyes moved to the man standing over him, a gigantic Afroamerican with a characteristic bump in the middle of his head, like a human-rhinoceros mix. It was the strong man, Lunkhead. Jerome's hands desperately clawed at his thick leg in an attempt to escape being crushed under his foot.

"You", Zachary continued, brushing up against the girl in a way that sent shivers down her entire spine. She wiggled in his arms, unable to escape the hold. "-Have been a very naughty girl. You took my keys..." A sharp smack on the bum. She jumped a bit and struggled to get away from his sly grip. As if the assault wasn't enough, she had to stand there and watch Lunkhead ominously lift Jerome off the ground by the rim of his shirt. "..and you didn't bring me those lollipops you promised." Zachary leaned into her neck and his stinking breath became twice as intense. It was revolting. The remnants of corndog in her stomach threatened to come up. She writhed violently, jerking her hands left and right in a desperate attempt to get loose. But the fact was that he was a man three times her size and she was a malnourished teenager. That realization brought an overwhelming amount of despair upon her; the first tears dripped on the dirt beneath them.

That same dirt was all over Jerome's shirt now. Lunkhead turned to Zachary as if awaiting an order. The boy's hands were waving left and right, trying to land a punch. But even those that did hit Lunkhead weren't enough to make him budge.

"Ah, I didn't want to do this, sweetheart. I don't like making a pretty girl cry, but...you'll have to learn not to steal from me again. And since it's not right to hit a woman-" He looked up and gave Lunkhead a nod. "My dear old nephew will have to do in your stead."

The strong man tossed Jerome's body on the floor. The thud was so loud and vivid that Harleen instinctively screamed and closed her eyes. Lunkhead knelt on top of the boy's chest as Jerome struggled to crawl away, coughing and writhing. But the man's weight pinned him down on his back against the moist dirt. He lifted both hands to protect his face, but Lunkhead's punch snapped his head around regardless. He let out a loud yelp.

"No! Stop it!" Harleen struggled, but Zachary's hold was still strong on her arms, pinning them behind her back. "I won't steal anything from you again, promise!" Zachary continued to laugh as Lunkhead landed another punch in Jerome's face. Blood splattered on the ground next to him. Harleen's writing got twice as violent but it still did nothing to deter Zachary.

Lunkhead lifted Jerome's head up by the neck, the half-conscious boy weakly trying to resist his grip. Jerome's hands wrapped around the man's wrists but his failure to escape the hold was predictable. Lunkhead started to squeeze and Jerome's hands were now flying in all directions, hitting Lunkhead's arms in a desperate attempt to get the strongman to let him go.

"No! NO! STOP! You'll kill him!" Her nails curled and started to dig into Zack's skin, which finally earned a reaction; he groaned loudly and let her go. Fresh blood ran down his hand from the scratches; bits of skin and hair were now trapped under her nails. Once free she instantly ran to Lunkhead and attempted to push him off, which just ended with her on the ground after Lunkhead merely shoved her away effortlessly. Zachary's deep laughter echoed in her head. She turned to her left to see Jerome panting on the floor, blood smeared all over his face and filling his mouth as he choked.

"Hey, what's happening back there?"

A familiar voice. It was Daniel, the Ringmaster. He approached with his whip in hand, his makeup halfway done for the stage tonight. Upon seeing the boy suffocating on the floor in Lunkhead's grip -Jerome's face had turned blue at that point- he barely reacted, but turned to Zachary with a stern glare.

"Don't make a mess here, the Graysons are about to go live. Save it for when we're on the road, for god's sake." He growled. Lunkhead let Jerome go, the boy falling back with a thud. He was still panting, breathing uncontrollably fast and loudly. Every breath had a small yelp to it, as if his lungs were desperate for air and his entire body was writhing. Zachary rolled his eyes.

"I'll teach my boy when and where I want to, how I want to." He snarled. Daniel seemed undeterred.

"Save it for when we're on the road." He said coldly. Zachary and him had a short stare down, but Lunkhead was already up and on his way to stand by Daniel. He was the Ringmaster, after all, and Zachary was just the cook. Despite his connections, he just wasn't as popular or powerful. Accepting defeat, the ginger spat towards Harleen's direction and walked away, rubbing his scratched arm as he did.

She lay on the floor beside the beaten up boy as Daniel and Lunkhead walked away. The Ringmaster left her with a warning to clean up the mess and not draw any suspicion. When they were gone, she could feel tears streaming down her face at incredible pace as she sobbed uncontrollably. Turning on her side with a soft groan, she crawled a bit closer to Jerome, who lay on his back with his eyes closed as his breath gradually relaxed and returned to normal. Her hand found his blood-stained cheek; it was warm and swollen, bound to leave a nasty bruise behind. Forming words was impossible, because the only thing that would come out of her mouth was whimpers.

"I'm...so...sorry." She finally mustered, and it was followed by another wave of sobs. "I'm.."

You'd think he should have passed out by now. Yet, a firm hand jerked up to grab her neck. His grip wasn't as strong as before, he had just gotten the life beat out of him after all. But it was strong enough to squeeze her neck and force her head down against the ground. She yelped. The side of her head crushed against the dirt beside his hip. He sat up weakly as she lay down in a daze then spat some blood beside her.

He has every right to be angry, Harleen thinks. I stole the keys. I put him in trouble. He'd warned me.

Jerome's shaky hands made a few pathetic attempts to push him on his feet. When he finally stood up he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, smearing fresh blood all over. The girl was still curled up on the ground beside him in a fetal position, sobbing into her own hands. The tip of his shoe found her stomach rather effortlessly and the kick was far from gentle. She felt her ribcage pop with a loud 'crack'.

"I'd kick your teeth in-" He growled, his voice low and threatening, yet clearly dizzy from the assault. "...But that might make 'ya pretty."

With that he spat another thick clot of blood that found her hand and turned around to stumble on the way back to his trailer.

 


	11. You're the one

**In the world's eye, we were Laurel and Hardy**   
**In our minds, we were Heathcliff and Cathy**   
**In a moment of wisdom, we were a wizard and a witch**   
**In a moment of freedom, we were Don Quijote and Sancho**   
**In reality, we were just a boy and a girl**   
**Who never looked back**

**-'You are the one', Yoko Ono**

* * *

The first feeling that kicked in was an inner pain around her tummy. She felt her ribcage stretch and shrink with her breathing, every bone groaning in pain as it did. Her back was sore too. But it quickly faded into a background numbness, a feeling of 'something is wrong here but I can't identify what'. The pain receptors in her body hadn't been wired up like that in a long time; ever since leaving home, actually. Even then, the assaults were frequent but not quite as brutal –there were never any bruises, unlike now, where had she been fully conscious she would have discovered the huge bruise spreading across her belly by now.

But beyond the physical pain, there was the emotional one. The second her mind woke up she instantly got the feeling something horrible had happened; the first emotion that surfaced was guilt and sorrow. At first she couldn't understand what for, because the memories were still foggy. It only took a few moments for the scenes to playback like an old cassette set on loop in her head.

Desperate to escape the images in her head, she opened her eyes and tried to sit up. Moments within the first attempt she already knew sitting up would prove a difficult task today; her back complained and bones cracked as if she'd been in deep slumber for years. But it had only been a night, she could tell, because May and Angie were in their usual morning posts and staring at her intensely.

"Morning, princess." May's tone was condescending to say the least.

Angie was filing her nails noisily. Nail dust had sprinkled down on the table and a smell like plastic had filled the room. It made Harleen want to sneeze, but she swallowed it for fear her ribcage would burst from the jerk.

"Did you have fun last night?" Angie asked, her voice many times more joyful than May's usual snarky remarks. Harleen's eyes were fixed on her for a solid few minutes, then moved to the nail file in her hand, moving back and forth in rhythm.

"Did he roofie you or something?" May cackled, leaning back against her chair. Harleen's gaze moved to her slowly.

The way they were sat on the table, opposite each other, really enhanced the angel and devil feel one would get from these two. May had short black hair, usually pinned back in a messy ponytail and dark eyes that were always full of life; her look alone confessed she was a smart girl, but also sassy. Angie, on the other hand, had long hair that bordered between blond and light brown and beautiful blue eyes that held a profound innocence –even though she was far from innocent herself. They were both beautiful girls, in their own way, and had been dancing ever since they were children, which granted them beautiful hourglass shaped, firm bodies. Harleen envied that sometimes. Perhaps if she hadn't found shelter in their shed she would envy them more, but their unique personalities had won her over.

"Jinx, when you get up, can you wash your costume, please? It's starting to reek." Angie said in a honeyed voice, even though the sentence was far from sweet. She had her way to present things, though, nothing like the abrupt May who was always bold and bratty.

This time the entirety of Harl's face rotated to meet the pile of laundry with the blood-stained little pair of shorts on top of it. The sight didn't shock her as much as it initially had. After last night, a bloodied pair of shorts wasn't that much to handle. She finally responded with a groggy "Yep" and attempted to stand up and make her way to the sink on shaky legs. May watched her the entire time and let out a low groan.

"What happened last night anyway?" This time Harl could tell there was genuine worry in her question.

"Noth-" She paused to clear her throat, then took another shot at explaining –or rather justifying herself. "Guh! Guh- Nothing much."

"Oh, sure. Nothing much sounds like a reason to cry yourself to sleep." May snapped back. Harl paused, leaning on the kitchen sink and glared at her over a bony shoulder.

"May, please, try to be more gentle okay?" Angie sighed. "She's just worried about you, Jinx. We both heard you come home last night. And if something's happening that you need to talk ab-" Harl's fists clenched against the sink.

"I'm fine." The response was sharp as a knife blade. It thundered between the three of them, blocking all hope for a continuation. Angie and May exchanged a befuddled look. They hadn't heard her get that defensive before. Angie frowned and went back to doing her nails, while May tapped her foot nervously.

She turned on the sink to fill a glass of water after rinsing it once. The water was a bit cloudy, probably because of the poor quality filters in their trailer. May started to talk again, her voice colder than before, while Harl downed the entire glass in one go. Cool liquid quenched her in part, but it didn't do much for her sore throat.

"Daniel dropped by earlier, when you were passed out. He says Ryder's cancelled for now, after the little stage mishap. Oh, obviously you're not supposed to go around telling people what happened by the way." She tapped her fingers on the kitchen table. Harl turned around to peer at her over her shoulder, glass still in hand.

"Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because it makes your boyfriend look less like a creepo." The response was sharp. It felt like May warned her just so that she could make that comment right after. Harleen rolled her eyes, then poured herself another glass of water. This one was less foggy.

"I won't say anything." She took a sip, slower this time.

"He also said that since you're not a show-girl anymore, you're gonna have to fill in for some other part."

"And here I was thinking he'd let me stay for free."

Angie giggled light-heartedly at that. May chuckled too, but it was laced in sarcasm.

"So…have fun at the stables today." Ah, that came out cocky as hell.

Harleen froze. Now, that wasn't information to be handed out so flatly. Harleen had joined as a dancer, with little skill but a good potential, and she'd hoped to return to dancing after the whole knife gig was through. But it seemed like Daniel had other plans. Last night's incident must have had some connection with this; perhaps Daniel wanted to show her the consequences of making a fuss in the back of an ongoing show. She slowly placed her glass on the table, next to May's, after swallowing a final gulp of water slowly.

"Don't leave that _here_!" She pointed to the glass in the most accusatory fashion possible. "I don't want this next to mine, put it somewhere else."

"Nothing's gonna happen if you just drink from her cup, May." Angie rolled her eyes, never taking her attention off of her pink nails. Harleen's face dropped.

"Not gonna risk it. Just 'cause she's stupid enough to go out collecting STDs don't mean I am." She clicked her tongue. Harl felt her frustration building up, but her voice cracked when she tried to speak up for herself;

"We didn't-…I don't- He doesn't have STDs!"

"You ever seen his mom do a walk of shame 'round the camp? Well, 'shame'." She put that in air-quotes. "I don't know if she knows what that is anymore."

"Prostitution is just a job, May." Harl growled back.

"Sure, then why don't you do it?"

"Because-" Harleen took a moment to put herself in Lila's shoes. Disgusting men touching you for money…no wonder the woman was drinking all the time. But that thought brought a wince to her lips and she was left without a retort, thus she clenched her fists and stomped her way to her corner, leaving behind a cackling May.

Whatever, she had other things to worry about.

She filled a basin up with lukewarm water, then soaked the pair of shorts in it for a bit. Some of the color seemed to come off, but for the most part the stain just smeared. She grabbed some dish soap –they were out of laundry powder- and started rubbing with all the force left in her hands.

As she rubbed, she thought of last night; the force with which Lunkhead slammed Jerome's back against the ground over and over, the sound of the boy's bones cracking as he got punched in the face, blood pouring down his nose and leaving a red trail behind on his face…

That was all her fault.

If she hadn't stolen those keys from Zachary just for the kicks, Jerome wouldn't be in trouble. To think she repayed the boy that saved her leg like that…she deserved way more than the kick she got from him, didn't she.

There was some doubt for a moment; it was Zachary's fault that Jerome got beat up! He was the deranged maniac, not she. She merely wanted to check on J and make sure his hand was healing as it should be…It's not her fault his whole family tree is screwed up in the head!

But Jerome said it was her fault. He even warned her in his trailer. He knew it was coming, the second he saw those keys. And yet…he forgave her in the end.

Sure her stomach was bruised. But he put up with her nonsense, her clumsy shenanigans, he even went on a date with her. What a gentleman, Jerome.

Thinking about all that, she slowed down on the rubbing. By the time she'd snapped out of daydreaming and looked down in the basin, she was faced with red bubbles and murky water spilling out on the floor.

"Hey! Watch it, you're making a mess dude." May snapped from the kitchen.

"I'm not cleaning this up." Angie declared, then popped her gum and flipped the page on her newspaper.

Harleen turned back to the dirty water. It had left small reddish droplets on her arms and a discreet mark from the point she'd dipped her hand in. An odd metallic scent spread in the room. She pursed her lips and continued to rub with twice the force now. But even that didn't seem to do the trick. When she pulled the shorts out, the stain had seeped into the fabric and granted it a soft pink hue. The previously white-blue pair of shorts now looked pink-blue instead. And despite being an odd combination, it didn't look that bad unless you know where that color had come from.

She took a moment to fully realize that this was Jerome's blood. It had seeped into her shorts, staining the fabric for good. And that realization had her wince and sniffle, swallowing some tears. She hid her face from the other two until she could be sure she wouldn't burst out and started draining the shorts, preparing to hang them up.

She had to put them aside and get dressed under May's vigilance. A red shirt and a pair of jeans later, she was all set to head out and ran her fingers through her hair a few times in a short-lived attempt to de-tangle them.

"I should get going. I'll hang this outside to dry." May didn't say anything in response, but simply watched. Angie, though, seemed a bit sympathetic. She even glanced up from her nails to check the shorts' condition.

"It could be worse. At least it's faded to a nice pastel pink."

"Yeah. Huh."

"Are you going to be late tonight?" May interfered sharply. "I'm gonna lock if so."

"Uh…I don't know."

May only rolled her eyes in response. Just as Harleen was about to step out the door, Angie's cold fingers wrapped around her shoulder.

"Here." Angie waved a little device towards her, shoving it in Harleen's hands. "It's my mp3 player. I figured listening to some music might help with the deed." Angie offered a warm smile. Harleen looked at the player and then took a sharp step forward to give Angie a quick hug. The latter giggled and patted her back gently. It was a loose hold and the movement alone stung Harl's abdomen a bit, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. May rolled her eyes again.

"Just go, that thing is dripping all over the floor!" She pointed to the wet shorts dangling in Harleen's grip. She flashed May a shy smirk and rushed outside.

* * *

In Haly's circus there are few things worse than working at the stables. Feeding and watering the animals, as well as keeping them presentable, can be pretty physically demanding –you have to carry loaded carts and buckets full of food and water back and forth. But that's still tolerable compared to the part that comes prior; cleaning.

The cages of small mammals and serpents in the petting zoo are easy to clean; there's nothing hard about picking up otter and duck litter. The exotics are usually a bit more tricky; you don't want to get your hand clamped off while you're sweeping lion shit around. And you definitely don't want to be anywhere near the monkeys, because they'll be very willing to help you pick up the dung, then throw it in your face. If you're unlucky –or hated- you'll be assigned to elephant duty.

But if you're a bit more lucky –or well-perceived- you just might end up in the horse stalls. The horses are peaceful and their dung, despite being heavy as hell, is relatively easy to clean. Brushing their white fur clean can be relaxing and sometimes they'll be a bit more at ease and let you pick their hooves in peace. They're large, but gentle and calming to watch. As such, working with them wasn't that big of a punishment.

However working with them when your abdomen is all bruised up from getting your stomach kicked in the night before can be painful. And Harl was surely groaning and moaning when she had to lift those heavy water buckets or stretch to reach the top of a horse's back. The worst part of them all, though, was that, despite the occasional co-worker who dropped by to dump some dung in the piles outside, she'd been left alone with her thoughts.

And that's where Angie's mp3 player came in handy.

_'I get so emotional baby...every time I think of you...'_

She pressed the earbuds into her ears, wedging them into the hole. Background noise was completely overshadowed. It was loud enough to be distracting and along with the strong smell of horse dung it did the trick.

_'I get so emotional baby, ain't it shocking what...love can do…'_

It was somewhere around the second verse that she saw it; with the corner of her eye, a familiar figure at the stable entrance. Her first move was to take off the earbuds and slowly stuff the device in her pocket. As if hypnotized by the sight, she dumped brushing the horse halfway through being done and slowly made her way to the entrance.

The sight had her gasp and quickly hide behind a wall. But she had to pop her head around the corner and look out again, if only to catch a glimpse; him, pushing around one of those enormous carts used to transport elephant dung into the pile. His near-perfect complexion was stained with a fading bruise as was his neck. And he looked…so miserable.

To know she contributed to this fate... She is overwhelmed by the need to apologize yet again. A hesitant step towards the entrance is all she manages before her own doubts overtake her.

_No. He won't want to see her. He has good reason to, as well. She has to respect it._

But _she_ wants to see _him._

He's unloading the cart. His expression holds all the bitterness in the world. It's hard to remember how he looked like when he was flashing those bright grins of his. The pout becomes twice as evident when the fresh dung emits a horrible stench. He ends up coughing, taking a few steps away from the crap and heading for the nearest stable wall to lean against. Seeing that, she has to resist the urge to rush out and hold him and hide instead.

She turns around and presses her back against the wall, holding her breath. After a second, there's a soft bump on the wall, a vibration she can feel running down her spine as he leans against the entrance docks. It sounds like he's coughing a lung out. She catches herself thinking about the fact his hand is just on the other side of that wall. If it weren't for the damned wood, he might as well have been leaning against her back. That thought has her bite her lips in shame, face turning a beet red color. She doesn't realize the wince that escapes her lips. The coughing stops soon after.

A ginger head pops through the door and Jerome's initially curious expression turns upset within fractions of a second. She catches a glimpse of his face, shock evident on her own expression. He pulls his head back out of the room, walking away with a frown.

_Let him walk away. He deserves his peace. And you'd just annoy him, Harl. Face it, Harl. You're an nuisance._

There's this impulse she fails to hold back; a force pulling her legs forward. Before she knows it, she's already standing at the entrance, watching his back. And then she is unable to hold it back any longer.

"Jerome! Wait!"

He keeps walking at first, as if he never heard her. But he must have, her high-pitched voice isn't easy to miss. And then, just when she's getting ready to launch behind him, he halts.

"Ugh. You're such a pain in the ass."

A smile appears on her face. She takes that as an invitation to approach.

"Please, hear me out, okay? I'm really…really, really, so, _so_ sorry." She starts, hands pressed against her own chest. Jerome finally cranes his head back and turns around with a groan. He stands there, glaring daggers at her. "You…you were right all along, I should've never gotten you in trouble like that."

"And I should've snapped your neck, but oh well. Can't change the past." His head lowers, the glare growing twice as malevolent; "Only the future."

She gulps audibly at that, taking a step back.

"I-" The words get caught in her throat. She clenches her fists against her hips. The horrible stench fades into the background, as does her reason. "I just- I did it because…" The inner turmoil is evident in her voice. All this built up frustration is bubbling up now, approaching the surface; May's insults, her own guilt, the traumatic experience, being beaten up, being forced to shut up because of Daniel's stupid law of omerta; it's too much !

"I just care about you!"

**Pause.**

He stares at her blankly, blinks a few times. Taking his time, he slides a hand out of the plastic cleaning gloves he's wearing and holds the empty glove with the other. That bare hand is now used to rub his forehead, slicking his hair back to get a few stray strands away from his face. It gives her a moment to take in how filthy he looks in his stained overall jeans. And then his deadpan expression cracks into high-pitched laughter.

"Pth- _Bwa-ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-hah!_ " He keeps laughing, until he's almost out of breath. "Pth-ha! Hah! If you really _care_ about me, then help me get rid of this hellhole!" His voice cracks into high-pitched squeals as he keeps laughing between his own words. She's serious though and stands upright, straightening her sore back to look him in the eye and calmly state;

"Burning this place down won't solve anything, Jerome."

"Ah," a disappointed sigh, "...you don't get it." His face drops. But it's quick to snap back up at the sound of her voice raising.

"Yes! I do get it!" She throws her hands up, momentarily exploding before she takes a sharp step forward, closing in on the boy staring still in response. Jerome's head tilts to the side curiously, his shoulders hunched slightly like some peculiar kind of vulture. "Life has been..." She hesitates before turning around to gesture at the dung mountains, "...a pile of shit for you." Jerome's expression turns thoughtful and he starts to nod in agreement. "You have...every right to be angry…and you do deserve better." At that she takes another step closer, closing the distance between them. Her hand reaches out to wrap around his bare one -though even that is considerably filthy and reeking. "But setting fires won't solve anything." Her voice is slightly reassuring and Jerome looks curious again. "The real hellhole, Jerome, isn't Haly's. It's in here." She raises a finger to tap the side of her skull. "You don't _believe_ you deserve better. _You_ don't think you can do any better."

Something odd appears on his face. It's a kind of expression that's hard to read.

"But I think you can." Her eyes water up. She's tip-toeing slightly to face him. Her voice softens and she shakes her head slowly. "You can be so much _more_ than a petty arsonist. You could do great things."

She stood right in front of him, close enough to smell how badly he reeked and feel the warmth of his body, hear the sound of his breath above all other background circus noise. Horse neighs and yells from a distance blurred into the background. There was only Jerome's penentrating gaze and his pink lips curled into a smile.

And then she found herself inching closer, reluctantly placing a hand on his arm. He stared at her with an expression that bordered between shocked and moved. And then he jerked forward to grab her shoulders and force her against his chest. Both arms wrapped around her small back. She let out a groan once hitting his hard torso, losing her breath for a second there. But most importantly she felt her heart fluttering, a feeling like she would die any moment. His hold was strong and firm, almost needy. She slithered her arms between his and wrapped them around his shoulders tightly. With that she felt a light pull as her toes were lifted off of the ground for a second. His body, that felt stiff and hard at first, had now melted into the tight hold. She let out an audible swoon and rested her chin on his shoulder.

They stayed like this for a moment. Then he loosened his hold, breaking the hug.

"You smell like shit." she mumbled softly, close to his ear just before he let her go.

He turned around to glare at the pile of dung behind them, then nodded left and right with a half smile in agreement. That same smile was soon mirrored on Harleen's face as well.

"So do you, poo." A smile reappears on his expression as he leans closer. "But anyway, tell me, what kind of great things were you talking about?" He sounds intrigued. And he's not simply fishing for compliments; he's demanding them. Harleen starts to see her ticket out of this fight; coax him into letting it go. Even if she means every single word, she can't help but take the bait and blurt more out. She should be more careful; she should be vigilant. But it was too late, wasn't it? She was head over heels and she might as well admit it now.

"You're…you're sharp-" Ah, that damned blush is already burning through her cheeks, "-…and you know your way around town." He nods with a deep, breathy snicker, demanding more. "…And…handsome." His brows shoot up, he smiles and nods as his stare moves towards her lips. "Smooth. Funny-" As she talks and he greedily keeps nodding and edging her to say more, she starts to get all the more comfortable complimenting him. It makes her feel…useful. "Strong…" She trailed her fingertips down his shoulder, "but also sensitive." He furrows his brows and nods at that, though the expression in itself is a bit comical. "And a great showman." He wrapped his fingers around her chin, tilting it upwards.

"Better than Ryder?" The question was nearly rhetorical, considering the way he was staring down at her. But that predatory gaze held a peculiar charm to it in Harleen's eyes; it looked lustful.

"Much, much, much, much better." She nodded as if to accentuate her words, leaning closer. "He's a cheap show off but you…you're-Eep!" She gasped as he pulled her against his chest even tighter.

Suddenly, his lips crushed against hers, taking her breath away -literally, because she had to swallow a gasp just from his force alone. They were a bit chapped and not nearly as soft as she'd anticipated. He tasted of cinnamon, but it was impossible to ignore all the other scents no matter how much she wanted to. There was sweat and traces of cigarette smoke blending into the smell of his coat. She did melt into the kiss, however, relaxing in his hold. It felt like an eternity; the horses froze in the background and everything blurred but the two of them; two teens kissing amidst piles of dung. When he finally broke the kiss, she found herself leaning forward for more. Even as he pulled away, she managed a soft peck on his lips while they were still a bit puckered. He licked his lips into a smile before growling close to her ear;

"That makes us two of a kind."

 


	12. Brass Ring Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit on the short side plot-wise, sorry about that. I was going to make it longer but I realized half-way through that it was becoming far too long. Thanks for the read! Comments are always appreciated too. I hope you enjoy reading. ❤

**Its motor whirs and colors curl**

**Inside your head the monsters whirl**

**In sucked out, time stood still**

**Roundabout back carousel**

**Time stood still**

**And you remember it well**

**-'Carousel', Siouxsie and the Banshees**

* * *

"Hey Angie!"

The dressing room was half-empty, with Angie and May occupying two sitting stools in front of the same mirror. Circus changing rooms weren't very spacious, and you had to be efficient and quick while getting ready. Those two had plenty of time to get un-ready, though, because they'd just gotten off stage, as betrayed by the stench of sweat that filled the little tent. Ryder was also taking his clown-white make-up off a few feet away, rubbing viciously at his beard to make sure it's off. He nodded a wave towards Harleen when she passed him by.

"Well, well, look who's here. Aren't you supposed to be out by now?" May mocked, leaning against her and Angie's shared counter with a half-smirk. Angie turned around and put her hairbrush away for a moment, staring curiously at Harleen.

"Everything okay?" she asked gently. Her long hair looked smooth and silky, despite having spent most of the day in a tight bun today. Harleen couldn't help but wonder how she did it; always looking so ethereal and beautiful.

"Yeah, I was just wondering if I could borrow some of your makeup just for tonight? I'm out…But I'll return the favor once I restock, promise!"

Harl didn't have to look at May to know she was frowning. She probably thought it reckless of Angie to share face products with Harleen after learning about Jerome. But that's just because she's a bitch, Harl told herself.

"Sure. Help yourself." With that Angie got up and stepped aside, allowing Harl full access to the makeup bag on her counter. The latter picked up a mascara wand and started applying it in slow, careful strokes. May was obviously tempted to nudge her hand, but wouldn't dare do so in front of Angie it seemed.

"So, where are you guys going tonight?" Angie asked sweetly. Harl took a moment to respond, as her jaw was hanging open while applying the mascara. She picked up a red lipstick when she was done with the eyes.

"We're going to check out a yard sale in town."

"We? Is that…a date I hear?" Ryder asked playfully from his distance. Harleen bit her lower lip into a shy smile, then quickly tried to hide it and go back to painting her lips. "Oh, who's the lucky guy?"

An awkward silence followed. Harl's hand wavered a bit, leaving a shaky red line on her bottom lip. May clicked her tongue and raised a brow whilst Angie tapped her nails on the wooden stand, as if this discreet noise would make the thundering silence any more comfortable. Ryder's brows furrowed.

"Jerome Valeska."

There was another pause, but this time it wasn't just awkward. The tension was intense enough to make every single little hair on Harleen's arm stand upright. Ryder approached, his short-heeled shoes clicking against the ground.

"That guy!?" He exclaimed. Harleen tried not to pout, but it proved a difficult task. She distanced the lipstick from her mouth to make sure she wouldn't smear it again. She was already getting wired up from his tone alone.

"You mean 'that' guy as in 'the guy that saved my leg when you missed?"

"I didn't miss. He sabotaged the wheel." He threw his hands up over his head.

"Why on earth would he do that, Ryder?" With that she placed the lipstick back on the counter, a bit too forcefully. "Just admit you screwed up!" She could hear her own voice getting louder, but didn't care enough to try and lower it. Ryder raised his shoulders and held his hands up as if he was about to explain the most obvious thing to her.

"Because! He's wacko! Haven't you heard the stories about this guy?"

"I head his mom had to send his own brother away because he kept trying to kill the poor thing." Angie commented quietly, wearing a small pout.

"He set fire to their trailer a couple of times. I've also heard stuff about him fondling the snake…" May jumped in.

"Can you shut up?" Harleen snapped back. "You don't know anything about him. You're all going off of rumors."

"Sometimes rumors can protect you, Jinx. There's a reason why they spread around to begin with." Angie explained calmly.

"No, you're just targeting Jerome because he stands out." Harleen insisted.

"I saw him laugh after he nearly chopped your leg off, Jinx. I was there, I saw it-" Ryder prepared to take a step closer to her, but the girl moved back sharply.

"It might have been nervous laughter. You don't know what you saw, it was dark, you were in shock-"

"No, now I'm in shock because you're so damn dense." Ryder interrupted. May threw her hands up in exasperation.

"Okay, guys that's enough." Angie said, then got off her chair and turned around to place both hands on Harleen's shoulders. "Look, if anything happens that you need to talk about, we're here for you, okay?"

Harleen's brow twitched and she threw a suspicious glare towards Ryder and May, but nodded slowly anyway.

"Congratulations." May added, but sarcasm was already dripping from her voice like poison from a snake's fang. "You're soulmates with a ginger."

Ryder burst into roaring laughter and May started cackling at her own joke. Even Angie snorted a giggle. Harleen's pupils grew to the size of a pinhead, her fists clenching against her thighs. Despite her insides boiling, she turned around on heel and knocked Angie's chair over as she stormed outside the changing room.

How can they be so blind and cruel? People like this…disgust her so much! They won't even give poor Jerome a chance because of their bigotry. She growled between clenched teeth, ignoring the odd glares she'd receive from workers around the camp.

Well, their loss! She stomped her way back to her trailer, only to be stopped halfway there by a familiar-feeling hand on her shoulder. It forced her to turn around and see the boy's shadow towering over her tiny frame.

"Looking for me, gorgeous?"

He was wearing the most smug of all smirks. She couldn't help but let out a breath of relief when she saw him. Something about his presence was reassuring. Despite wearing his usual attire, he still looked amazing to her. His smirk faltered, however, when he noticed her lack of response. All she gave him was a sad smile.

"Hey…yeah. Sorry, I was somewhere else. Let's go."

They walked side by side for a few moments, her being awfully quiet and Jerome occasionally clearing his throat to get her attention. Eventually he gave up trying and let out a deep sigh.

"…So, a horse walks into a bar and asks for the heaviest whiskey the barman has in stock. Barman pours him a drink and goes; why the long face?"

She responded with a small smirk and a half-hearted chuckle. Jerome's face scrunched up for a moment and he stepped in front of her, forcing her to come into a halt with a gasp and blocking her way.

"…I'm…it's not… a big deal, just…"

"You don't want to tell me?"

"I'm-…not you, just…no one in general." She averted her gaze. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Oh." He nodded, but it was far from an understanding response. He sounded upset, perhaps even a bit angry. "So, you're hiding things now."

"No! That's not what it is, I'm just…mentally exhausted."

His brows furrowed. She kept her eyes away from his face up until he grabbed both her shoulders and shook her back and forth. Now he looked excited.

"Well, why didn't you say so then? I know just the right remedy for that!"

* * *

The Amusement Mile had seen its prime a few decades back. It used to be this enormous attraction, the city's biggest –and only- funfair. It was still a signature district of Old Gotham. But save for the arrival of Haly's circus nearby it, it didn't receive much attention anymore. The train tracks would stand collecting dusts and most rides had suffered the corrosion of sitting idly for at least a decade. It had been deemed too dangerous to access and there weren't many offers for reconstruction.

It was a bit depressing to look at.

"You know how Haly's loves its hometown, right?" Jerome commented, a hint of sarcasm evident in his tone. He'd been leading her all the way up to the wired fence that shielded a specific part of the fun-park. There were no alarms, because anything of value in the park had probably already been stolen. But they still bothered to stop kids from entering the abandoned park rides, as they could get maimed in those rusty cogs. "They do a tour of the roundabout towns, sometimes even out of state. " He explained, lifting some of the wire to allow her passage through. "But Gotham…they visit Gotham twice a year." She glanced at him before reluctantly bending over and crawling underneath.

She took a few steps forward, browsing around. The night gave this place an even more eerie feeling; the chipped paint and empty face of the Fun House mascot felt like it was following her with its stare. Jerome popped up beside her and she jumped a bit in shock.

"Anyway since we lived half our years 'round here, my brother an' I used to sneak around, just kids, y'kno', tryin' to have some fun…And one day we discovered...this thing!"

His hand waved towards the forgotten attraction in front of them; a dusty merry-go-round. It wasn't the traditional kind, but a much smaller one, obviously meant for children only. There weren't any horses, but horse-drawn carriages instead; each with a little belt to make sure the kids wouldn't come flying off their seat. It must have been cute in its prime, but with the colors all faded and rusty and without proper lights it looked eerie if anything. Some cars were a bit crooked and all of them looked worn out and faded.

Harleen pouted, hoping this thing had seen better days. Jerome pointed to the little control panel booth beside it, where the operator must have stood to get this thing started. Then he hopped his way to it and started digging around underneath its counter. It sounded like he was tinkering with something underneath there and when his head popped back out through the booth's glass, a huge grin was plastered on his face.

A second later, the lights came on. The huge sign wrapped around the carousel's top lit up, reading; 'YE GRAND OLDE RIDE'. Most of the smaller light bulbs stuck to its docks lit up too, some blinkering.

He pranced his way out of the booth and placed a hand on the small of her back, his other one gesturing towards the abandoned attraction. At first she walked willingly beside him, but as they approached and she got a good look of the rusty cars her feet came to a halt. Jerome's hand started pushing her forward as he spoke, his voice perky.

"Now my brother, haven't talked to 'ya much 'bout him, but everyone always went on about how he's a genius…and I'll give it to him, the boy's good with his hands. He tweaked this little beast with Uncle Zack's screwdriver."

"Jerome…As much as I like carousels, and I appreciate that you want to make me feel better, I don't think that's going to hel-"

He had to grab her arm in order to force her onto the platform, then push her into one of the little cars. She sat back against the hard seat with a grunt. A cloud of dust surrounded her due to the sudden shake from her collision and she started to cough. Jerome took advantage of that to approach and get a hold of the belt buckle.

"Shh! This way, miss." He had to bend a bit in order to follow up on the platform. It groaned and shifted with each of their steps, as if its foundations had withered away in the corrosion. "Woah, you're lucky to fit in here. I'd join 'ya but…" He tapped the roof with his hand. "Too tall for that now. Anyway, as I was sayin', I snatched a screwdriver from Uncle Zack and my brother started messing around with the wires…I guess he was wiring the thing up, heh. Thing is, he needed a test subject –you know, someone to test the wheel, y'could say. Guess who filled in for that job."

"You did?"

"Exactly… We called it…the Brain Floss! And, trust me, sweets, it's going to floss every lil' crevice in your noodle, before you can say 'Please, Jerome, make it stop!' "

"I'm…not sure about this."

Her complaint was completely shrugged off by Jerome, who forcefully strapped the protective belt around her, then buckled it in and gracefully jumped off of the carousel.

"Buckle up, baby." He snickered. "You're going for a ride."

She watched him go, unsure how to process that last sentence; it sounded like a sincere threat, but maybe he was just messing with her. It was just a merry-go-round, after all. The most dangerous part about it was the wires sticking out in places and the rust embracing its cogs. Hopefully the corrosion wasn't too bad.

Her hands reached for the belt strap and tugged on it a bit to make sure it was secure. She couldn't help but wonder how many kids had sat there before her and how many of them enjoyed their ride. She wondered how many of those kids went back home to a plain, sterilized life and held this short carousel ride as a precious moment in their mind forever, for it was the only time no one forced them to be more quiet, to straighten their shirt or pull their skirt down, to pin their hair back, to act 'decent'.

She must have disassociated briefly; Jerome was already standing behind the booth now, leaning against the counter with a deviant smirk. He looked otherworldly in this eerie abandoned park; the way he stood there, with his slim posture and his mischievous grin made him seem like some kind of ginger devil who offered a ride in exchange for your soul. His beady eyes were fixated on her and she gulped audibly when he suddenly jerked upright and mouthed an 'oh', as if he recalled that he's supposed to be doing something.

"Okay, sugar, hold on tight!"

With that he pushed a lever forward. Music blasted and the machine groaned as if it were in pain when trying to start up. But after a few seconds it started to move, slowly and steadily. Harleen recognized the popular tune despite its distortion.

_'Today's another day to find you…shying away…I'll be coming for your love okay…'_

She clenched the belt strap in her hands. The carousel groaned more as it started to pick up speed. At first the change was very slow and gradual. She'd see Jerome standing there in the exact same position after each round. And then she started to see him more often, as if he was in two places at the same time. Then three, then four….

_'Take…on me….take…me…on…'_

Five…Six…How many Jeromes are standing there? It's like they're surrounding her.

Her stomach starts to complain. A tickle spreads all throughout her lower abdomen, her body warning her about the speed of this thing. She can hear the other cars creaking and the heavy machinery inside of this thing starts to make more noise, it's almost as if it's falling apart but it keeps going faster at the same time.

"Eep! Slow down!"

No response. The merry-go-round keeps speeding up. She can feel the leftovers she had for lunch bubbling up in her stomach. Her head gets pinned to the seat's hard back. She can feel her lips being pulled back by the force of the spin. Everything blurs into one in the background.

_'Take…on…me….take….me….on….I'll….be….gone….'_

"Jerome! Make it stop!"

Her voice gets distorted in the spin. The air reeks of something burning.

"It's too fast!"

Fragmented letters merge into the blurry surroundings. Lights start to blind her. She can feel the urge to scream, but tries to swallow it, for if she opens her mouth more than just a scream is going to come out. Her nails dig into the belt's leather. It's so worn out already that it could snap any second now. And then what?

The merry-go-round comes to a sudden halt, but music keeps playing. She finds herself halfway out the car seat, her tummy crushing against the belt and head hitting the rim of it. After a brief pause, it picks up speed again, but this time it's moving backwards. She's trapped there, doomed to be spun around like a spinning top. Her attempt to plead him is stopped by a sudden jerk as the merry-go-round speeds up even more, this time looping the other way around. Her belly is pressed tightly against the strap. It feels like the leather will cut into it any second. She attempts to hold herself away from the car's rim but her hands keep growing weaker as her head is overtaken by a sharp sting of pain.

"If I were you I'd hold it in. It's gonna come right back around an' hit 'ya in the face."

Jerome snickers, leaning against the booth. He watches her spin around helplessly with a smile. And then he reaches into the booth and presses a certain red button.

The music slowly gets distorted. The merry-go-round starts to shift left and right as it hits its speed limit. It's going so fast that it feels like it could defy the force of gravity. He can't make out Harleen's form clearly anymore, but he guesses she must be scratching around, looking for something to hold on to.

_'Take me…I'll be…g-gone…'_

A light bulb pops. Harleen screams, but it gets lost in the spin. She screams louder, but it was as if nothing came out of her mouth. She can hear Jerome's voice over the music, but his speech is distorted because of the dizziness.

"He'd strap me in there for hours. Going round…and round and round and round…. Until I puked my guts out and got my face rubbed in 'em."

_'Needless…to…s-s-…Take…on- me…on….'_

"At first I begged, but I gave up hope after a few tries. He'd use all kinds of blackmail to get me dragged out here, threatening to fill mom's head up with more of his stories…Ha! That lil' bastard."

Jerome's form merged into the background. The only thing she could be sure still existed in the same space was the car's protective bar, hanging loosely in her grip.

"He's in college now, y'kno'." His head falls, lip scrunching up in a mocking manner. "Probably through with it too. Meanwhile I'm out here, digging into horseshit!"

With that outburst, his hand slams the lever and the merry-go-round starts to slow down. Lights blinker, smoke fuming from its top and sparks flying off its wires. Harleen's body falls back against the cart, nearly knocking her out from the collision alone.

"…Welp. Life isn't fair, huh?" Jerome holds his hands up whilst approaching her idle body, fallen on the cart's seat like a sack of potatoes. "I should be used to it by now."

With that he hops onto the platform and spins around one of its poles before nearing her to scoop her half-conscious figure out of the car. He has to take her into his arms and drag her out of it, as she doesn't seem to respond at all. In this manner he takes her off the cart and onto the gravel-lined floor.

"So, toots, how are y' feelin'? Still worried about your friends and all?"

He let her arms go and she instantly dropped to her knees with a groan. Her shaky hands barely did anything to hold her up. It was the violent twitch of her torso that did the trick for the most part, forcefully writhing as she retched all over the floor with a 'blurgh!'. Fortunately she hadn't eaten too much. When she'd coughed out all the little bits, her arms completely gave out on her. Jerome could barely grab her by the hair to pull her up before her face would land straight into the vomit.

"Easy now, prettyface." His tug pulled her all the way up on her legs, but she continued to waver left and right. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, letting her head lean against the top of his chest. "Ew, dog-breath." He gagged audibly from the stench, his nose scrunching up. But he just ended up laughing it off. "Come on, let's get 'ya cleaned up. There's no water 'round here so…we're gonna have to go for a night swim. But first-"

He dug into the front of his pocket. Her body swung in his arm as the entirety of her weight was leaning against him. Her eyes blinked rapidly with only the white part visible, pupils rolling into the back of her head. After digging around a bit, Jerome pulled out a plastic ring, the kind that secured bottle caps on. He'd clearly taken it from a water bottle of sorts. He grabbed her one hand, holding the plastic between his own fingers and slid it into her ring finger, his other arm wrapped tightly around her waist to keep her in place. Some saliva ran down her chin.

"Here's your prize."

 


	13. Rays of Ultraviolence

**He used to call me DN**   
**That stood for deadly nightshade**   
**'Cause I was filled with poison**   
**But blessed with beauty and rage**   
**Jim told me that**   
**He hit me and it felt like a kiss**   
**Jim brought me back**   
**Reminded me of when we were kids**

**Lana del rey- Ultraviolence**

* * *

_'Harleen.'_

_Father's stern voice. His suit is ironed to perfection; not a single fold on the entirety of its jacket. He towers over her, threatening and faceless._

_'Your mother and I have been talking…about the incident at your school.'_

_Oh no, father, I can explain!_

_'We want you to know that we won't tolerate such behavior.'_

_A door slams shut. It's dark and humid._

_'What a disgrace!' Mother's heels click, the sound grows louder as she approaches in a crying fit. 'The headmaster calls me about my own daughter, saying she's been causing trouble!? My daughter? A Quinzel? Do you even understand what you've done? How will I be able to face anyone at the parent meeting ever again after this?'_

_Glass breaks. She sits up; she's on something soft, a mattress. Her childhood bedroom. A hand grips her chest tightly, feeling the heart that beats loudly underneath. She crawls out of the heavy covers and stumbles her way to the bathroom. It's right where it should be, down the hallway. She has to be quiet._

_She steps into the shower. Warm water will caress the worries off of her skin. She runs her fingers through her hair, pulling them back, away from her face, exposing it to the water. Her hand reaches for the shower handle, increasing the pressure; ice cold water blasts forcefully into her face, cutting her breath._

_Wait, ice cold?_

* * *

"Gah!"

She jerked back with a breathless gasp. Before she could realize the cold pebbles underneath her palms or the cold water pouring down her face, she had to lean back and start panting for air desperately. Her nails scratched the pebble surface as she struggled to get a grip on something solid. It wasn't long before she felt a strong tug on the back of her head, though, a hand pulling her away from the water flowing peacefully before her. Her knelt knees unfolded and stumbled backwards and then her face bumped into something warm and hard.

The familiar scent helped her realize what it was; Jerome. Another shove distanced her from the warmth and she found herself shivering, blue stripes painted on her face as her hair dripped hair dye in streaks, alongside her bleeding mascara. But there was another funky smell too, a fishy stench. She can feel the tender caress of grass over her ankles.

"And here I thought I'd have to give 'ya the kiss of life." His high-pitched snicker sounded twice as obnoxious with a buzzing head. A sting was crawling up the side of her head, warning her of the imminent headache. "Bummer."

It took her a while to register what was happening. At first all she could remember were the flashing lights and the spin…and that memory brought bubbles up her neck again. That damned song was stuck in the back of her head, but not in the usual way a catchy beat can be; it was accompanied by a feeling of helplessness that quickly turned into dread when her eyes got accustomed to the poor light and she could make out Jerome's pale complexion in the moonlight.

That asshole.

Her fists clenched, a peculiar sense nipping at the flesh between her ring finger. She looked down to see a strip of plastic wrapped around it, then violently jerked her hand to shake it off. Jerome's brows furrowed as he stared at the makeshift brass ring on the ground with a pout. Her heart raced. Harleen rarely allowed herself to get angry and perhaps that was why she didn't know what to do with all this rage boiling up in her guts. She pressed her teeth to keep the words in, but it was impossible.

"…You are…insufferable!"

Jerome's head jerked back and he blinked in surprise. A small pout appeared on his lips.

"Me?" He breathed, voice cracking. He sounded so childish, it aggravated her even further.

"I could have died! What the hell were you thinking!? Are you even thinking to begin with?" He placed a hand on his chest and took a step backwards when she threw her arms up in exasperation. "Those wires could have…the cars! They could've come flying out of this thing, I can't believe you strapped me in there and I can't believe I'm justifying you to my friends like a total idiot! And you try to kill me right after! I could have died, Jerome! Do you understand how serious this is!?"

A pause. His pout fades and the hand previously resting over his heart now slides to the side of his hip.

"…That was the point." He states blankly. His deadpan expression leaves her speechless, but it's only for a moment.

"What point? You wanted to kill me?!"

"The serious part. That's the point."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" She yells and it earns a frustrated sigh on his part. He rolls his eyes and purses his lips.

"It's supposed to show you that it's really easy to get your head flying off of a merry-go-round." His raises a finger and starts spinning it, as if to imitate the carousel's movement. She starts shaking her head in disbelief.

"…You're joking. Tell me you're joking." He shook his head, as if he was honestly disappointed.

"Compared to the permanency of death, your friends' gossip becomes…" He pauses, taps his chin thoughtfully, searching for the right word; "- _insignificant_."

The word lay heavily between them. Her pupils shrank to the size of a pinhead. And before she knew it, her own hand jerked to meet his cheek, forcing his chin around with a thundering clap.

He stumbled to the side and rubbed the sore skin, slowly turning red.

She was shaking, her shoulders heaving and falling with each breath. And then it dawned on her that she had just slapped his face around and her hand fell idly by her hip.

"I'm-" she begun apologetically, but Jerome's face slowly turned around to reveal a smirk.

"That's all you've got?"

Even though the way he craned his head around was eerie and intimidating, the taunt was enough to get her wired up again. She felt such extreme exasperation that it overwhelmed her to the point of loosening her inhibitions and slapping his other cheek with all the force she could muster. Jerome snickered.

"Oh, come on!"

"What is wrong with you!?" She yelled. Her heart was beating so loud she could feel its echo in her head.

"Well, I strapped you into that cart for starte-" That earned him a punch at the bottom of his neck. Her blows weren't nearly as painful as what he'd experienced, but they weren't exactly pleasant either. He laughed, provoking her for more. But she just let her hands fall and, despite visibly shaking in her pathetic attempts to hold back, took a step away from him. Jerome's brow twitched, his face quickly frowning in disappointment.

"No. I'm not doing this. This is madness." She mumbled behind clenched teeth. Jerome rolled his eyes and stepped forward, grabbing both her wrists and holding them up close to his face as he leaned in to close the distance between them. His face hang low, eyes crawling all the way up to the tip of his lid, to the point where his pupils were barely rolling back in his head.

"You wanna know why I strapped you in the Brain Floss?" Her breath got shaky as she tried to wiggle her hands out of his firm grip. "I was hoping it'd make you less of a boring bitch." She jerked her hands back forcefully, but it did nothing to release them. Instead, Jerome tugged her closer effortlessly. "I wanted to give you a taste of a life where daddy won't come save you. No-" He leaned closer, his forehead shaking with every single word he'd growl in her face. "-matter-how-hard-you-scream. You came here-" Her struggle continued and he had to lean back and avoid her attempts to scratch at his face. The pitch of his voice rose again, from the depths of hell to a mocking but humane tone. "-in search of that, didn't you? Daddy's spoiled little girl wanted to see how the common people do it, huh?"

Her eyes widened, taking up most of her face. It seemed as they could pop out of their sockets any second now.

"Let me go you freak!" She tried to fall back away from him using her weight, but he just laughed the attempt off.

"I don't think I want to, sugar lump. And I don't think you mean that. You…liked the ride. And you like this, or else you'd be back in your trailer, mopping about how your parents love their public image more than their own daughter." He faked a pout, mocking her in her face. She shook her shoulders left and right trying to break free of his grip.

"What makes you any better? Your mom beats the shit out of you and you just sit there and take it like a good boy. You could snap her neck… but you'd miss the spanking, wouldn't you?" She returned the taunt. It only caused Jerome to burst into a laughing fit.

"Pth-hee-hee! Don't think I don't think about it." His grin broadened, eyes widening with a spark. It lasted for a mere moment, but the image of that hideous smile would be imprinted in her head forever. "But this isn't about me, Harley, it's about you…and all those little barricades in your head that won't let you see, all those little Angies and Mays and mommies and daddies that hold you ba-AH!"

She yowled, while landing a violent kick right between his legs. That one had him fold in two, moaning in pain. He instantly let her go and put both hands over his crotch but she took that opportunity to shove her knee against his jaw. Despite being significantly weaker, it was enough to knock him over in the present circumstance. She was given the choice to run off. But instead she stood there and watched him roll from side to side, clutching his crotch in pain. And something about that sight finally made her give in. She jumped on top of him with a grunt and clenched her hand into a fist, shoving it into his neck as forcefully as she could. Her blows were clumsy but they still forced little gasps out of him.

He groaned and tried to cover his face from the flurry of blows.

"Ouch! Oh! Ooh, fuck, ha-woo-haha!"

As much as she hated to admit it, it felt good. Every punch hurt her hand too. Beating someone up was more painful than she'd anticipated; but perhaps that was the beauty of it. It was relieving, like a hot shower after an emotionally drenching day. She let off steam on his face and neck, occasionally managing a little red mark, which would quickly blend into his collection of bruises. His response, however, was just aggravating her further. His insolence was pushing her to wrap her hands around his neck and start squeezing, desperate to stop that manical laughter.

He started to choke on his own spit, coughing in between snickers. When his skin had turned a bit paler –if that was even humanly possible- he grabbed her wrists and forced them away, muttering a quiet "That's enough."

She got a push that knocked her over on her back against soft, moist soil and grass.

Humidity graced the night breeze with a chill by the river. The waters were calm, almost seemed still under a few moonbeams prancing across Gotham's riverside. Robert Kane's memorial bridge cast a discreet shadow in the distance, a subtle giant, blending into the darkness of its scenery. City lights would blink from time to time, someone going to bed, some other waking up for work and a few heading out to Kane county for some late-night gambling. The Amusement mile was standing somewhere far behind them, silent and imposing and Haly's had wrapped the show up quite some time ago.

The riverbank was dark and embraced by a peculiar fog, but it also harbored a humid warmth that made you sweat under your jacket. Should you take it off to spare yourself the sweat-shower, you'd set yourself up for a cold as this particular spring wanted to go out with a bang and fostered cold breezes that sneaked past you while Gotham's river tricked you into undressing.

And if you were wrestling by the riverbank? Oh, then things were bound to get sweaty.

But Harleen realized that only after she felt her breath get caught in her throat and the first beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Her blue-green bob was frizzy, hair flying all over the place, and that granted it a look Owen Lloyd would want to steal for one of his gigs. Jerome's hair wasn't in much better condition, but the spiky mess seemed to suit him more than the usual slick back. It felt more genuine on his mischievous expression.

The funky stench had blended into the smell of wet earth, creating an odd but unique mix. Their play came to a halt when Jerome sat on her chest, pinning her against the ground. He wore a triumphant smirk, like a child that just won at his favorite game. She tried to push him off, but his weight was impossible to move, so she took to slapping his legs and tummy, which just resulted in Jerome laughing and grabbing her wrists again. He shrugged off the playful blows like they were nothing. And for a moment, she did feel helpless again; it was the realization that he could snap her hand in two if he wanted to, a bitter reminder of how easily he slammed her head against the ground last night…

He forcefully pinned her hands over her head, leaning over her face like a vulture circling prey. She winced and writhed beneath him, but it was to no avail.

"Okay, okay, you win!" She pleaded, a hint of panic seeping in her voice. Jerome's face inched closer and he breathed a chuckle against her cheek. His fingers clenched around her wrists, skin whitening underneath his fingers. She stopped struggling, hopeful that this would get him to back off.

"Oh, I know I won. Thing is…I'm not sure what my prize is yet."

"Jerome! Get off damn it!"

"Make me, puppet."

"Okay, what do you want?"

"I don't know. To be honest.." He licked the side of his lips into a smile, sparkling green eyes darting off to the side. "I'm feeling a little crazy."

"Come on!"

"Okay okay, how about a little dare?" He watched the ball of spit roll down her throat as she swallowed hard. "I'll get off…but you will take your clothes off and dive butt first into the river." Her eyes widened instantly. She blinked, as if she couldn't believe he just suggested she should dive into Gotham's most polluted site of all. Her eyes snapped to the side, glancing at the dark waters that extended over his shoulders, then returned to meet his devious gaze.

"…You're mental." She breathed.

"Sure. But are you?" He snickered.

"…I'm..." She found herself overwhelmed by fear. His demand was as unreasonable as it could get and yet, she glanced at the dark waters and debated on it for a second. "c-can I get another option or something?" She bit her lower lip, a desperate attempt to coax him. "Please?"

"P-ckah!" He clucked, tucking his hands underneath his elbows and flapping them around like chicken wings. The tease painted a pout on her expression. What was previously shock and intimidation, now converted into anger. How dare he ask this of her after what he did? She'd prove him that she wasn't one to mess around with like that.

"Ugh, okay, get your fat-ass off of me." Her hands smacked his thighs to get him off and he laughed whilst sliding off of her and onto his side. She got on her feet and dusted herself off, straightening her shirt.

The river's waters were dark and their stench would hit your nostrils all the way up the bank. But people still went fishing here and sometimes –very rarely- swimming too. It was a big river, not one to mess with. But tonight it was at least calm, thankfully. She drew in a deep breath, gathered all her determination and undid her jeans' buttons before dumping them on the soil.

Wind embraced her bare skin. She shivered and felt her body heating up in shame. A shy glance towards Jerome was all it took to get her face beet red. But she was determined to go through and not give in. She'd prove it to him, and most of all herself, that she wasn't one to mess around with. Tugging her shirt off, she stripped herself of inhibition at the same time.

Jerome wolf-whistled with a sly smirk.

The grass felt soft and wet beneath her bare feet. Then it mixed with large, hard and cold pebbles. Those hurt to step on and she had to raise her arms for balance. It wasn't an easy task, especially not if you knew someone was staring at your ass all the while. What if someone saw them? Sure, it must be pretty late and the camp was pretty far away, but it was still risky.

She shivered when her fingers touched the water; it smelled horrible, like dead fish and something funky she couldn't identify. She was about to step in the shallow when she spotted a can of soda floating by. This river had to be full of junk like that. And the dark waters didn't make it any more welcoming, let alone the fact it felt cold.

Jerome's cackle snapped her out of her doubts.

"Chickening out?"

Harleen turned around to face him with a pout. She pinched her nose, bent her knees…

_Splash!_

It felt absolutely disgusting. The water had a gooey quality to it. The smell was so intense it made her want to vomit again. And worst of all, the slimy pebbles under her feet wouldn't hold their ground, thus she had to swim too and couldn't feel the bottom very well. It was scary and she tried to avoid getting her head dipped in to save her face the rash that would definitely come tomorrow.

However after a few moments she started to get used to it. She noticed the moon's beams highlighting the river's surface and felt its flow get wilder as she accidentally swam a bit deeper. She was quick to make her way back to where she could step on the pebbles. All worries –about people seeing her, or being so exposed and vulnerable- melted into the stinky water. The best part was, however, that she could look at him again and boastfully call out;

"Ha! Who's chickening out now?"

He took a moment to watch her splash around like a carefree child in one of Gotham's most polluted sites. God knows what's in that river, from car tires to random trash to mutated fish –because, hell, they'd have to mutate in order to survive those waters. And yet she'd dipped herself in the water with a smile, as if its darkness –or its stench- didn't scare her.

Sure, maybe she did it for the bet, maybe because he told her so. Either way the experience brought a weird tickle all over his body; a rush, the thrill of power, perhaps. Or maybe he just fancied the naked girl. Either way, he wasn't one to think too hard on it.

"Come on it ain't science." She taunted.

Jerome's face scrunched up a bit at that. He wiggled himself out of his coat and dropped it by the pile of clothes she'd left. Harleen's face lit up at that and she fell back into the water, giggling like a schoolgirl.

"P-ckah!" There came the chicken clucking.

He started to undo his shirt's buttons quickly, then tugged it off to dump it on top of the clothing pile as well. His skin was so pale it almost had an eerie glow in the moonlight, dimming over the parts of him covered in bruises, old or fresh. There were scars too, mostly burn marks that healed in a weird way. It was nowhere near a beautiful site, but it was peculiar. To Harleen, it felt like one of those moments you know will forever live on as a mental photograph imprinted on your brain.

"Only reason I'm comin' in there is to drown 'ya." His growling threat earned him a high-pitched cackle from her. He bit his lips into a devious smirk whilst undoing his belt buckle.

"Woo-hoo!" She cheered on from the water, clapping as he wiggled out of his pants. "Daaamn!"

He held his hands up, signaling for her to stop. Drawing a deep breath, his smile dropped into a stoic expression, brow twitching.

"And now, world-class champion, Jerome Valeska shall attempt the first ever forward dive in Gotham's filthiest waters, wearing only…" He waved his hands up and down his body, stark naked in front of the river bank. His skin was glowing in the moonlight. He exerted an enthralling confidence. She caught herself staring, but she couldn't feel shame for it; not with Jerome. "..His birthday suit." He snickered. She clapped enthusiastically but stop when she saw him preparing to jump face first into the shallow riverbank, full of fat pebbles.

"You're gonna break your head, babe."

"On my mark. Three…"

"Jerome! Don't!"

"two…"

"Dude, I'm serious it's too shallow!"

"one…go!"

And he set off, running barefoot on pebbles and diving forward, as promised. There was a splash and a thud. She yelped, propelling herself closer to check on him after his body disappeared underwater. The shape of it wasn't easy to make out, despite the waters being shallow. That just gave her an idea of how filthy it must be in there. She rushed to reach into the water and feel around for his skin. But there was nothing.

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck." She started muttering, turning around in circles and trying to feel for any indication that he was near. She wouldn't be able to see blood rising to the water's surface, even if there was some. It was shallow enough to walk around in the river, but she was still covered up to her neck in flowing water and straying too far from the bank could be incredibly dangerous. She started to despair, but it only lasted for a second; the next she screamed at the sound of another splash, as if something emerged suddenly from the water. Jerome shook his head and droplets from his wet hair splashed all over the place.

"Oh, by the way I don't know how to swim." He started to giggle, flapping his hands around and splashing murky water all over the place. She groaned and rolled her eyes, but she was laughing with him now, laughing as if they hadn't been beating each other up a couple of minutes ago.

It didn't matter that much. Not in that moment, not to Harleen. Dangerous or not, this had been the most exciting days of her entire life and even though she'd nearly died today the thrill of knowing you're into Gotham's river in the early morning hours with a boy who unapologetically strapped you to a death chair was unlike any other. Excitement pumped in her veins. She looked into the dark water, took a deep breath and dove under its surface. Jerome's giggles were distorted underwater. The sound of pebbles smashing on each other as they were carried away took over. She opened her eyes and they instantly starting to sting, but she couldn't bare to close them. There was nothing but slime, pebbles, grass and trash in the river's bottom. Jerome's legs stood a few feet away from her. She kicked her legs to get closer, then wrapped her arms around them. Jerome jumped a bit in response.

"This isn't fun- AH!"

He jerked a bit at the sudden feel of something scraping the skin of his pelvic. Come to think of it, that felt like teeth. There was another nip over his hip bone and he let out a nervous cackle, finally letting go of her shoulders. She emerged with a deep gasp, then shook her hair and pushed him back into the water as forcefully as she could. His butt landed against hard river rock and he lout out a pained groan, sitting in the water that now embraced his shoulders and left only his head untouched.

She saw that as an opportunity to climb into his lap, grabbing his face with both hands. His expression was the perfect mix of confusion and arousal. Her head craned inwards to land a soft, silent kiss on top of his lips. Moonlight sparkled on the water's ripples, a shine reflected in both their eyes. The river's stench was repelling as ever, but they were both doused in it now; drenched in Gotham's filth.

Her pupils dilated and she leaned in to steal his breath again. The boy barely moved. It felt like kissing a lifeless statue. But that didn't stop her from raiding his mouth, forcing her whole weight against his chest as she climbed on top of him, almost knocking him back into the water. Slowly, his hand finally moved to wrap around her back. It earned a little gasp from her, little shivers running down her spine. She pulled back to look in his eyes with her own half-lidded ones, full of lust. He blinked.

"I-" Her tongue had forced its way in his mouth before he had a chance to explain, nearly gagging him. Little moans of protest would escape him now and then, but for the most part he sat there and held her loosely. Her lips moved from his mouth to his cheeks, forehead, even the tip of the nose. Eventually, she broke the kissing attack to climb out of his lap and grab his arms. Her tug was weak, but he followed her out of the water anyway, with the tiniest hint of reluctance in his step.

She led them both to the riverbank then turned around and fell on her back against the grass. She lay there staring at him with a smile for a few seconds and he stared back in confusion.

"Fuck me." No response. His head fell to the side, like a confused puppy.

"Huh?"

"I said, fuck me."

That honestly sounded more like a command than anything. He swallowed hard, then dropped to his knees beside her. She opened her legs and he stared between them, a bit dumbfounded still. All he could think about was that this was a hell of an unexpected turn. He crawled between them and watched her swoon audibly beneath him.

Granted, the scenery wasn't very romantic. It was a dark field by the riverside with two naked teenagers reeking of murky water. This would make one hell of a recipe for an infection too, but that hadn't even passed by their minds.

"Next time," his brows furrowed momentarily, as he lowered himself to his elbows to growl closer to her face; "ask nicely."

"Please fuck me, please." She obliged within seconds. Her hands wrapped around his shoulders but he quickly shook them off to pin her wrists over her head instead. She gasped in delight.

"You know, you're the worst case of daddy issues that's ever joined Haly's. And that should really tell 'ya something." He leaned in to nip on her chin, his breath warming up her red cheeks. "But I guess I should thank your dad for it." He chuckled, sliding his one hand between her thighs. She writhed, as if the insult had went completely over her head.

"Hah…please!"

They were stark naked, but the river's breeze melted between the heat of their bodies merging. She let out a loud moan, then let her head fall back, hair rubbing into the dirt with each thrust.

It didn't meet any expectations, because it didn't have to. The act in itself was primitive and they both embraced that, going by instinct. In their very first few moments it became apparent that inhibitions had washed off in Gotham's waters.

Yet, the dance of their bodies underneath pale moonlight had something ceremonial about it. It felt like an awakening.

The birth of a longing that would burn their loins? Or perhaps of sentiment that would cauterize their heart's tissue and eat their chest walls away?

As her back rubbed back and forth against moist grass, melting into the soil, Harleen could feel her pact with Cupid being sealed with each kiss she'd plant on his bicep. She found happiness in each little grunt she'd earn in return; knowing that she can finally please someone. And Jerome felt so easy to please in that moment; it only took a few moans and a few expressions and a few touches and his breath would grow heavier. But in reality all it really took was a surrender; to lie bare and vulnerable on the grass and submit.

Complete and utter submission.

Letting go feels so…relieving.

She closed her eyes.

Suddenly, her head is smacked around with a thundering clap. The slap leaves behind a sharp stinging. She starts to giggle. That earns her another one. And the laughing gets louder. Her back arches, body shaking with each roaring cackle.

Because it's liberating.

"Look at me." The demand comes in a low, raspy voice, harsh yet gentle. He grabs her chin, forcing her face around to meet his. "Look at me!" Now this one's a growling bark. Her eyes instinctively snap open.

A sharp gasp escapes her lips as both his hands wrap around her neck, pinning her to the ground. Oh, he's so forceful. He could choke her to permanent sleep by the riverbank and no one would know. She can feel his entire weight resting against her neck, her own tears running down her chin and crawling in the small dents between his fingers.

"Shut up!" He whisper yells, close enough to her face to let a few drops of spit sprinkle around her muzzle. Her mouth hangs open, seeking a breath it can't find. His tight hold lifts her head off the ground, shaking it back and forth a bit. Eyelids grow heavy as the corners of her lips curl into a smirk. "Do you want Daniel to come down here and find out what a cockloving slut you are?"

Her hands instinctively reach up to wrap around his wrists. Any effort to move them would be futile, but they just rest there in a loose hold, not even trying to get him to stop despite the lack of oxygen slowly starting to turn her mind hazy.

"Or better yet…Ryder?" A dangerous spark flashes in his eyes. His top lip scrunches up into a scowl. "…Now that I think about it…I bet you'd like that, wouldn't 'ya?" The hold tightens, forcing her to gasp for air. "I saw how you were checking him out on stage. You were thinking about sucking his dick."

His pelvis slammed into her with force that could leave a bruise behind. Her legs wavered from the push and her nails instinctively curled into the skin of his hands. She won't take her eyes off of him now, the star of the show. Her begging gaze is leaking tears down her mud-stained face.

"You think you can play me? I know what you're doing. You think you can think 'bout those jocks you like while I'm doing you. But I'm doing you a big favor, bitch, 'cause no one in this entire camp would wanna plunge it in your dusty cunt. I'm your best shot at getting some." He slammed himself into her again a few times, snickering quietly before he finally let go, allowing her a breath. "Eyes open, or I'll poke 'em out of your skull."

She panted heavily. Tears were running down both her cheeks, now bruised from the blows. But instead of trying to catch her breath or get him off, she just rocked her pelvis back and forth, coughing in between her words;

"Hh-harder…hn, please!"

What is it with this chick? He can see the tears, but it's almost as if she's relishing in them. She hasn't stopped smiling in that disgustingly sly way –like mom- ; it makes him want to slam her head against the rocks. And he just might, if she keeps it up.

And what's with all the moaning? He can't figure out just why she's not wrestling to get him off of her after all the threats. It's almost as if she loves the degradation.

"…Ugh…please, hit me again-" she breathes. Her voice sounds a bit different, a bit more…jovial than before. Playful, even. "Talk dirty again…"

Dirty-talk? He's heard his fair share of that from mom's sleepovers. To think she'd be into that…it's so disgusting that it's actually funny. And the way she laughs those slaps off –they're strong enough to dislocate her jaw, damn it!- it's…it's actually hilarious. He's got to admit it takes a certain kind of screwed up to sit there and laugh off a slap that can break your neck like that. It's a bit enticing.

He cranes his head to growl into her ear; "Shut it or you'll end up as fish food."

She laughs, but he's not even joking. And it's a bit annoying but also refreshing at the same time. If he could understand her reactions, perhaps he wouldn't be interested at all, not when she's not putting up any resistance whatsoever at least. But, even though it's boring to get his way so easily, he's never met anyone like that before. The thrill of his first time beating a girl up to hysterical cackles keeps him going –but most of all it keeps him from snapping her neck.

She rocks her pelvis against him, as if she'd have the strength to move beneath his weight. And even though he knows what will follow if he keeps this up, he does so out of morbid curiosity. It dawns on him that this creature is so willing to surrender that she might just let him live out all his bloodlustful fantasies –that is, if he plays his cards right. That prospect fuels each thrust and soon his mind switches off and surrenders to the animalistic side within all humans; one that comes alive on moonlit nights such as this one.

Pain and pleasure made for a bittersweet alloy. She started writhing again when he got a bit rougher. Their panting breaths made little clouds in the humid air around them, now turning colder. But she could feel her entire body burning, untouched by the cold. Her hands wrapped around his shoulders the moment he released them to get a better grip on the ground and support himself. It felt like tension was building up. At this point she was just letting things happen, free of restraints; the force alone was pushing her body to bounce against the grass and that feeling was like…flying.

What would her mom say if she ever saw her only-daughter, the doctor-to-be, the star-child, getting her back shoved into the soil by a circus stable-boy?

Jerome's head lowered a bit, his eyes clenched shut, and she saw that opportunity to pull his face down even further and crush her lips against his.

Ah, that felt good, like disgracing your family.

"Hh, shit, I think I love you." She mumbled.

All she got in response was a little grunt and a whisper-moan of "F-fuck!". Moments later, something warm ran down her thighs and he stopped moving. His arms were shaky, failing to support his weight that eventually landed on top of her, squishing her against the ground. She let out a pained groan and a giggle.

The next minute felt like eternity. It was only sixty seconds of her holding his panting body, trailing the bruises on his back and brushing her fingers through his hair. But it felt like forever – it felt oddly empty and yet overwhelmingly filling at the same time.

After their breaths had calmed down he held himself up, hovering above her ones more.

A small droplet of warm liquid landed on her cheek. It made its way down to her chin gracefully, rolling off her bold cheek apples like rain on mountain hills. By the time it had reached her chin, she opened her eyes and met his expression. Her eyelids blinked instinctively as more drops of salty liquid sprinkled on her face; tears. Soon, they mirrored his watery ones. But it wasn't until she felt the soft vibration of his chest against her and the light jump of his shoulders as he started to sob that it dawned on her.

"Jerome…" she whispered. A hand reached out to cup his wet cheek, thumb rubbing away the leftover trail of some tears. The gesture seemed to make him sob harder, now craning his head to face away from her, as if that could hide the fact he was quivering like a fish out of the water. "Hey…" she applied the lightest of forces trying to get his face back around. It wasn't enough. The aspiring doctor within her showed in the coolness of her expression and the assuring tone as she transitioned from trying to comfort him, to exploring him. "What are you feeling, Jerome?"

A small sniffle came in response.

"I just…" Another sniffle, his voice was soft and laced in pain; there was definitely emotion there, Harleen thought. "I never thought…I-" He tried to suck in a breath but ended up bursting into tears. She took that as an invitation to reach for his other cheek too and force his face around for a deep kiss. His swollen lips left behind a salty aftertaste.

"Shh…" She planted a few kisses on his cheeks, as if that would wipe off the tears still running down his pale skin, then rubbed her nose against him, pulling his face down to rest against hers. His sobs eventually hushed. "It's okay. I'm here for you." She whispered, and her voice broke slightly towards the end of her sentence. Her own eyes were stinging now and she closed them, locking some tears away. His face slid down to the crook of her neck and rested there for a few moments, buried into her tender skin.

Eventually he rolled off to his side, laying on his back with a deadpan. The trail of his tears was still evident on his face and she rolled to her side as well to trace them with her fingers. As she wormed her way closer, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, forcing her head to rest on top of his chest.

They lay in silence for a while. It felt like eternity to her, just them and the dim stars above Gotham city. Then he finally broke the silence;

"Run away with me."

There's a pause. She shifts a bit against his chest, feeling the flow of his breath against the top of her head. Jerome's head falls to the side lightly, his swollen eyelids drooping. Then she slowly sits up to face him, a tear-eyed smile on her expression. He anticipates the response calmly.

"..Can we get Gillian a new coat before we leave?" He lets out a breathy giggle. Her smile broadens as a hand reaches out to cup his cheek.

"You're so sentimental." It almost sounded like a statement, but the soft caress on her chin made it seem like a compliment. Thus, she smiled.

 


	14. Simulated Cleansing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, many apologies for this chapter being more of a 'filler'. I keep doing this thing where my chapters come out uneven plot-wise and I never know where to cut them. Either way, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy the story. Comments are always very much appreciated! -Name

**I don't eat**   
**I don't sleep**   
**I do nothing but think of you**

**You keep me under your spell**

**-'Under your spell', Desire**

* * *

Zip!

Sunrays slipped through shut eyelids, black saturating into a vibrant red before her eyes snapped open on their own. Within a few seconds' time it dawned on her that she'd been awoken by the sound of a zipper. She lay completely still, head overwhelmed by a penetrating buzz, as if someone was blowing a dog whistle right next to her ear. A dazed blink later, she saw Gotham's riverbank extending over her bare feet.

Wait a second, _bare_?

In a moment of panic she shot up; please tell her she didn't wake up completely naked outside!

To her relief, it seemed like someone had bothered to dress her up in her sleep. She tapped her torso up and down, feeling the shirt and then moved to touch her pants. And though the thought of someone doing things to you while you're unconscious is unsettling to most, she found herself feeling grateful for that.

A noise caught her attention, Jerome's familiar scent manifesting beside her. She realized she'd been feeling his aura all along; and boy, was it a special aura. Her head snapped around to meet his image and froze staring at him; his sleeves rolled up, hair flying all over the place, feet kicking a bit into the dirt as he was trying to pull his pants up, looking mildly annoyed –but even that frown had a touch of mischief to it. When he sat somewhere, Harleen noted, he didn't just sit, like other people would occupy a spot in the space of a room. No, he owned that spot. Even if that spot was a mud-stain amidst river-grass.

A smile briefly flashed on her lips. But she quickly loosened it to form an 'oh' and snap around, digging into her pants' pocket for her trusty smoke pouch. Fortunately, it was still crinkled somewhere in the depths of her pocket, the little bit of tobacco left ground under the pressure. It wasn't in good condition, but she still flipped it open to take a pinch out and roll a cigarette. The slim stick, with its little fix of nicotine, was just what she needed to forget the pain that faded into her back as her nerves started to wake. A peculiar burning sensation spread underneath her shoulder area, all the way down to her tailbone.

She shivered a bit when reaching for her lighter. The little flick got Jerome's attention off of his belt and onto her hand. He stared at it before letting his eyes wander to her face and the little frown of annoyance from before became one of disappointment. Had she noticed his expression, she'd have put the lighter down. But she was too focused on trying to keep the flame from blowing out due to the cool river breeze passing by.

"Hey." Jerome finally broke the silence. His morning voice was groggy. "Gimme that."

Her brows furrowed lightly, but she handed the pouch over the next instant. Jerome examined it, scrutinizing the label for a bit, then dug his hand in the pocket and fiddled around with the smoke a little bit. He nodded thoughtfully, as if he was having a conversation about it with himself in his head. And then he shifted a bit, sitting upright and threw it in the river with a small hum.

Harleen was halfway through lighting her cigarette and choked on the smoke when the pouch flew past her. She jumped a bit on her seat and yelled a "Hey!" in between coughs. Jerome patted her back a bit too forcefully, forcing a few pained groans from the girl.

"You can thank me later." He flashed her a grin that faltered when his stomach complained loudly. Green eyes shot up to meet Gotham's grumpy morning sky; cloudy and gloomy as per usual. It was obviously too early in the morning, the time when fog around the river hasn't dissipated yet. His eye snapped to Harleen when she spat the cigarette on the grass and turned to him with a big pout.

"I'm not gonna thank you, assho-"

"Breakfast?" His head fell to the side, adding an eerie charm to the smug grin stuck on his face. She blinked, taken aback by the sudden proposition. But, considering she'd emptied her stomach after the 'ride' yesterday, it wasn't a bad idea.

"I'm…Uh, where?"

"My place." He'd already pushed himself up on his feet as he spoke, then started dusting his pants off. "Get up." She obeyed and slid the lighter back in her pocket with a huff.

The way to his trailer was very quiet. Tents felt empty and lifeless. Even their colors had dimmed under Gotham's pale morning light.

A funky stench came from Jerome as he waved his hand towards his wheeled home. It reminded Harleen that she too was carrying dried river water on her skin from last night. She raised an arm and whiffed her armpit. Her skin smelled odd. Her jeans, just as the rest of her clothes, were covered in mud-spots and carried a strong fishy stench.

"Ugh. I should really go home for a shower. But May's locked the door, probably." She mused in a low murmur. Jerome's nose scrunched up at her words.

"She locks you out?"

"Yeah." She breathed, a bit crestfallen.

"What a bitch." Jerome growled back.

"She's not a bitch!" Harleen was quick to defend her friend. Even if May hadn't been very nice yesterday, she felt the need to be understanding. "She just…I think she feels like I'm taking up too much space." The volume of her voice dropped even further. Jerome's left brow twitched.

"Well, are you?" The question caught her by surprise –it wasn't a popular way to respond to something like that. His tone was stripped of all sympathy too, which made Harleen's sigh deeper.

"…I did splatter water all over the floor yesterday. I was trying to rub the…" She paused, glancing to his bandaged hand. "…red off my show pants."

"Ah." He nodded in understanding. "Blood's stubborn when it's dry." She let out a small huff and slid both hands in her pockets. They continued to walk in silence for a bit, slowly approaching the red cage with the sleeping boa curled up inside. Sheeba looked much smaller than what she actually was. Harleen had seen her unfold when Lila was holding her. "You know, I was thinking, even though we're running away, I'd still like to keep dancing."

Jerome's brows furrowed in puzzlement.

"Running away?" His head tilted to the side ever so slightly as he calmly made his way to the wagon's door.

"Like you said."

"I said that?"

"Yeah? Last night."

"Oh. Right."

He turned the key in its hole and pushed the door open with his knee. The familiar stench of cigarette smoke wiped them both across the face. He knew it was too early for his mom to be home and they never left the windows open when no one was home. It would be tempting from someone to reach inside and grab something if they did –not that they had something valuable in there to begin with. After barging inside he instantly made his way to the kitchen counter and started looking for a pan, leaving a confused Harleen behind to follow and shut the door.

He stormed past her, muttering on his way to the trailer's bathroom –a small room in the opposite direction of the bedroom.

"Where did it end up this time…"

Harleen pursed her lips, standing idly in the middle of the kitchen with her hands folded in front of her. Jerome turned back around on heel and stormed towards the bedroom, nearly knocking her over as he passed her by.

After a moment's hesitation, she followed inside the bedroom and found him knelt under the bunker. Her eyes caught a glimpse of the bedsheets, still stained with a bloodtrail as they had been a few days ago. The sound of him pulling something out from under the bed captured her curiosity and she approached, then slowly knelt beside him. In his hands was a thick stack of papers, all crinkled up and dusty. Harleen observed Jerome's expression as it gradually lost its spark. His face faded to a dull, monotone deadpan; the emptiest of all gazes. It was almost as if his green eyes were lifeless for a moment.

Her stare fell to the papers. Some of them looked like childhood drawings. Others had intricate linear designs on them. Jerome held a specific one up for her to see. On first glance it looked like a scribble. But if you paid attention, it would start to resemble a complex maze.

"My brother used to draw these all the time. Mom thinks she's hidden them away. She still pulls 'em out to sob about it some times, y'know, over a bottle or two." He sounded bitter. Harleen couldn't help but put a hand on his shoulder, giving him an affectionate rub.

"What happened to your brother?" She hadn't realized how heavy the question was until it was already out of her lips. Her free hand curled into a fist and she retracted the other one from his arm. Jerome blinked a couple of times. His head twitched lightly. And then he suddenly sat around and held up the paper in her face with a playful smirk.

"I'll tell 'ya…if you solve this maze."

She placed a finger on the paper as he held it up in one hand. Chipped blue nail polish added a subtle glow to her hand under the room's dim light. Her pointer finger started to trace in between the lines, instinctively picking a path in every crossing. Her lips were slightly parted as she focused on the task at hand, hesitating a bit before taking her picks. Her finger slid across the thin paper with a discreet sound, following the trail until it hit a dead end-

_SCHRATS!_

"Ah!"

She jerked and fell back away from the paper. Jerome's cackling echoed in the wagon. Her stare fell to the pencil he'd poked though the paper, right where her finger had been. He clenched his teeth and mimicked the sound of a buzzer in a hum.

"Eek. Aw. Guess we won't find out after all."

"For real? Come on!" She jumped a bit on her knees like a stubborn child. He simply chuckled.

"A deal's a deal, dollface."

With that he got on his feet and dusted his knees off before reaching on the top bunker. He tip-toed to retrieve something. Her stare followed his hand to discover it was a small frying pan. She couldn't help but wonder how it got there in the first place, but put such worries aside to follow him into the kitchen for now. He pulled two eggs out of the fridge, set the pan on a gas stove and heated up some oil. In the meantime, Harleen had taken a seat on the small kitchen table and was counting the stains on its surface; some of them looked like wine, others like paint smudges, but most were shallow dents and scratches. It was in no good condition. Soon, the smell of hot oil and eggs filed the room and a quiet sizzling faded into the background. His voice snapped her out of her observations and she looked up to see him holding the pan with one hand over the stove. Two half cooked eggs were swimming in it.

"M'lady, may I present to you Jerome's…flying eggs! Wait for the flip, folks!" He jerked his hand, forcing the pan to jump a bit as well. Drops of hot oil landed on his bandaged hand and sizzled on the exposed skin of his arm. "Ouch!" He slowly placed the pan back on the gas stove and wiped his hand on a nearby towel. Harleen had already jumped out of her seat to rush by his side.

"Are you okay?" She took his arm, forcing his wounded hand her way. "Let me see." Instead of obliging, however, he pulled his hand away and glared daggers at her.

"…Well, aren't you gonna clap?" Harleen blinked with an empty stare. He sounded so genuinely pissed off that it wouldn't be hard to imagine him slamming her head on that stove. Her jaw hung open for a moment, until she regained her composure.

"Oh, right." She started clapping enthusiastically, jumping a bit on the spot as well. "Oh my, Jerome you're so great at this, such skill, such grace-" Jerome held a hand up to her mouth to shut her up, then performed a small bow.

"What can I say, I like to flip things." He placed a hand on her lower back, giving her a light push towards the table. She obliged to the nudge and took her seat again, pulling both her legs up on the chair and folding them. "Eggs, switches, people." He hovered over her with the pan in hand.

"Jerome, that flipper." She teased and bit her lower lip with a giggle. He cackled and bent his wrist. The eggs came sliding smoothly off of the pan into the plate, doused in oil.

Casual chit-chat like that felt refreshing. It was a moment of normality, but stripped of its dullness. Perhaps it was the subconscious knowledge that it wouldn't last forever that made it so; that reassurance that she wouldn't get stuck in an endless cycle of mechanically repeating behaviors for the sake of repetition. With extreme personalities, like Jerome, you never know what you're going to get. And that excited her, in the same way a fix excites a junkie.

She found herself wondering what their life on the run together would be like. Would their days start with precious little moments like this? Or would they stay in bed for hours, relishing in each other's warmth? She rested her head on her hand with a small swoon. Her eyelashes fluttered a bit as she watched him stuff his face with egg and bread with noisy slurps.

His emerald gaze snapped up to meet her dull hazel for a moment. He looked down at the egg left on the pan, then back at her. He cleared his throat and pointed the fork in his hand toward the egg.

"Are you gonna eat that?"

"Huh?" The question snapped her out of her thoughts. "Uh…Nah, you can h-"

He'd already dragged the pan his way. She had to settle for the slice of bread left on the table, munching on it crumb by crumb as she got lost in her daydreams again. When Jerome was done he sat back on his chair and grabbed a towel from the counter to wipe his mouth with. Harleen was still biting little pieces of bread as if she were hoping to postpone the inevitable end of their breakfast together. He started to talk again as she chewed.

"You know I was thinking about what you said…the 'up here' thing." "Being away from my mother…it's going to do me good, I know. But I feel that…if I just leave like this, the wound will still be sore. You get what I mean?"

She nodded.

"I think…I need to cut these bonds, y'know? _Chop_ them off." He made a movement with his good head like an axe chopping wood. "I want closure." Harleen's stare sparkled a bit as she looked right into his eyes. He was squinting slightly, with his brows raised. The look seemed to convey some genuine emotion. She couldn't help but feel a shiver run down her spine in response to his puppy-eyes.

"It's such a big step, coming to this realization." She said softly. "Do you think you want to have a talk with her?" Jerome's eyes snapped to the floor. He brought his hands up on the table and started tangling and untangling his fingers nervously.

"I know she's not the best mother. But…" He chews on his lower lip for a moment. "I haven't been a prodigy either. You know, I never even got her a gift for Mother's day." He sounded a bit bitter, but quickly covered it up with a deep sigh. She swallowed a final crumb of bread and reached a hand out to gently place it on top of his fidgeting ones.

"Well, it's never too late." Jerome's green eyes slowly met her affectionate gaze. He drew in a short breath that made his shoulders heave.

"I just…you know, I would want this moment to mean something. The moment I give it to her, I mean. I want it to be something that would stain one's memory worse than the red on your shorts. And for that kind of thing… I'd need the _right location_." Her head fell to the side. She flashed him a quick smirk at the mention of her shorts.

"Wow, the way you said that…it sounded a bit morbid." She let out a small chuckle. Jerome pulled his hands away from hers, seeming offended.

"Are you feeling me at all here?" He asked sternly. The smile instantly disappeared from her expression and she started to nod, a bit panicked. The last thing she'd want would be to lose his trust. Especially when he just made this huge step right in front of her.

"Yes. Um. What if you guys went for a walk or something? Like, I don't know, maybe on the bridge or somewhere nice." She nods, trying to seem as understanding as possible. It's his closure. He deserves to have it as he envisions it.

"If I just ask her myself, though, I know she's going to shrug off the proposal. She's more likely to follow if…I don't know, she got a job offer or something." So sad to think she cares more about whoring than about her own blood, Harleen thinks. That thought…makes her blood boil. Poor, poor Jerome! "So I was thinking maybe you could tell her that someone's looking to meet her outside. Maybe hand her a note or something. Then she'll come and I'll be there to hand her a little gift; I was thinking something small, like candy and a card. People do that on Mother's day, right?"

"Yeah. Chocolates and a card sounds great."

Poor Jerome. He had such a heart of gold. Even now, he wanted to give his mother a gift. Even though she was the reason he'd burst into tears last night. Harleen's brows furrowed and a hint of a frown momentarily appeared on her features. But it dissipated quickly, because she wouldn't want Jerome to feel she pities him –even though she would guiltily admit to it.

"…Then…will you help me?"

"Always- I mean…Yes."

A second's pause, and then he jerks forward to wrap his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into a tight hug. She quickly slides her arms underneath his shoulders to hold on as his hold pulls her from her seat a little bit. Despite the horrible stench they're both emitting, his warmth puts a bright smile on her face. She can't help a small sigh. He lets go and she has to hold onto the table for support, or she'll land face first onto the floor.

"I can help you pick the gifts too…" She said quickly. He'd already gotten up to toss the pan in the small metallic kitchen sink.

"A-ha." It sounded like a yes. "Are you done?"

She looked to the small chunk of bread still left in her grip and stuffed it in her mouth, then nodded with a hum.

"Good." With that, Jerome turned around and grabbed her by both her shoulders, forcing her to turn around and face the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I got work to do."

He was nearly shoving her out of the wagon, but she still halted by the steps, grabbing the door-frame to resist his push. Curiosity drove his hand to the side of his hip, brows furrowing. Harleen turned around to face him with a smile. And then she grabbed the rim of his shirt and tiptoed to place a quick kiss on his cheek. His skin was soft, albeit carrying the strong smell of egg. She leaned in to hug him, but got a rather forceful push away.

"Ugh, sappy. Just go." He rolled his eyes and stood in a way that blocked her from stepping up to the door. It could have been a genuine rejection, or a tease. His face left it up for interpretation. "See 'ya later, toots."

With that he shut the door in her smiling face.

* * *

The wagon she shared with the other two girls didn't have a shower of its own. It lacked comfortable accommodation in general, but this was perhaps its biggest flaw; every time the girls wanted to shower they had to walk all the way to the three publicly available showers in the public toilets across the road and pay three bucks to use it. The place was right next to public restrooms, thus it usually smelled horrible until you'd poured enough shower gel to cover up the stench of piss. It also wasn't particularly clean and Harleen had developed the habit of taking a second pair of shoes with her because she hated to step on the slimy shower floor. Last, but not least, you had to deal with being naked and vulnerable in a public space.

Haly's camp was close to Crime Alley, one of the most infested areas in the entirety of Gotham. It wasn't a place you wanted to be strolling around alone, especially if you were a fragile-looking girl like Harleen. She wasn't naive, but she didn't have enough experience to realize just how dangerous walking by herself to get to the showers was. Perhaps her immaturity and thrill-seeking temperament were also playing a part in her decision to head there by herself, without letting her friends know where she'd be at.

Out of the three stalls, two were unoccupied. The middle one was pouring. She could make out pale legs underneath the door –they were a bit big. After sliding three bucks into the lock, the last stall in the row was unlocked for her and locked the door behind her with a huff.

"Motherfucker." She growled once the water was on. It was cold, as per usual. "You're not worth three bucks you stupid thing."

She would always bring her own shower gel, towel, and change of clothes. It made her even more of an obvious target.

"I know, right?" A male voice responded from the middle stall. Harleen gasped and clenched her fists; for a second there the shower's water felt boiling hot compared to her blood. Thoughts raced in her head. She was definitely not used to seeing men here and the thought of being separated by a thin wall that didn't even go all the way to the ceiling from a naked man wasn't a pleasant one. It's going to be fine. It's just a guy using the showers. She tried not to be prejudiced. But the playful touch in his voice had made it harder to do so.

"Hey, do you…" The man continued. Harleen's stare fixed on the wall in panic. Slowly, a bald head started to appear over the wall's edge. The guy only had to tip-toe in order to look at her. She blinked in shock and backed off against the opposite wall, as far away from the man's face as she could.

The first thing she noticed was that he didn't have brows. He was completely bald. His deep-set brown eyes looked tired but had a spark of smugness. There were dark circles around his eyes, but even they had a hint of redness. It came in stark contrast with his pale skin and completely shaved head. His voice was a little raspy. "…do you have any shower gel? I'm out."

Harleen looked at the little bottle in her hands, filled with bright pink, bubblegum scented soap. Despite poking his head up there while she was totally naked, the guy seemed to be invested on said bottle way more than on Harleen. He reached a hand over the wall and she reluctantly poured some gel into his open palm. Her stare snapped from the hand to the arm and she had to swallow a gasp; it was covered in thin scars that resembled razor cuts. She tried to hold back on her reactions.

"Ah, bubblegum. My favorite." He had a whiff and flashed her a drowsy grin. With that he went back to showering. Bubblegum scent filled the entire building after a few minutes. Harleen let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and went back to scrubbing.

After a few seconds, he started whistling. Harleen recognized the popular tune.

"Won't you take me to Funkytown…" She mumbled back. The whistling stopped. After a fraction of a second's pause, he started to hum the tune. She took that as an invitation to continue and kept going in a bubbly manner. "Won't you take me to Funkytown...Gotta make a move to a town that's right for me! Town to keep me moving, keep me grooving with some energy!" She held the bottle in front of her mouth like a microphone. Her voice was a bit off tune, definitely not a delight to listen to. It had this high-pitched girly quality about it when she turned the volume up a bit. The stranger didn't seem to mind though. Instead, his humming got louder and eventually he joined into the singing too.

Their little choir session ended in a fit of giggles on Harleen's part. The man didn't return them.

"Hey, you're pretty good at it." She complimented him in between laughing. "What's your name?" He kept humming for a moment, as if he hadn't heard her question, but responded soon after.

"Oh right, that was a bit rude on my part. I'm Victor."

"Nice to meet 'ya, Victor. I'm Har-" She cut herself short. It would be extremely stupid to reveal her full name when her parents had probably already informed the police to look for her. They must have offered a reward too. But she didn't want to use her stage name either, because it didn't feel like her. "…I'm Harley."

"Cool name. I used to have one of those."

She furrowed her brows. It took her a while to register that he probably meant the bikes. The sound of running water on his end eventually stopped.

"Well Harley, it was nice to meet 'ya." She heard the door of his stall burst open, then some rustling as if he was looking around for something. "Hey, you don't happen to have a razor on you, do 'ya?"

The question had the hairs on the back of her neck rise. As much as she was scared, she also felt bad for his arm. He probably wanted to scar himself some more. She might have had some razor bit in her pocket, as it's always better to be prepared in these streets, but she wasn't going to look either way.

"Nah, sorry…" She reached for the shower handle to turn the intensity of her water down a little bit. "But…if you need someone to talk to, I'm here for you."

Silence. Her response must have really caught him by surprise. She heard more rustling, a curse muttered under his breath and a final "See you around!" before he stormed out of the bathroom. Harleen was left alone with her thoughts –that revolved around a certain ginger for the most part.

 


End file.
